'^jf^m 


FROM   THE   LIBRARY  OF 


REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.   D.  D. 


BEQUEATHED   BY   HHvl   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


fO's¥^ 


MEMOIR    AND 

mel  lonfffelloto. 

by 

Rev. 

LETTERS.      Edited 

Joseph  May. 

With  a  Portrait.     Crown 

Svo, 

gilt  top,  $1.50. 

ESSAYS    AND 

SERMONS.        Edited 

by 

Rev. 

Joseph  May. 

With  a   Portrait.      C 

rowii 

Svo, 

gilt  top,  $1.50. 

HOUGHTON,    MIFFLIN   & 

CO. 

Boston  and   New  York. 

^fyi 


SAMUEL  LONGFELLO^ 


MEMOIR   AND  LETTERS 


EDITED    BY 


JOSEPH    MAY 


MINISTER   OF   THE   FIKST   UNITARIAN   CHURCH   OF   PHILADELPHIA 


Speak,  Lord,  for  thy  servant  heareth  " 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 

1894 


Copyright,  1894, 
By  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   &   CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  niverxule  Presx,  Cambridge,  Max.t.,  U.S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Priuted  by  H.  O.  Houghton  and  Company. 


PREFACE 


Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  was  once 
greatly  pleased  when  a  friend  referred  to  him  as 
"the  brother  of  a  poet."  He  fully  appreciated 
the  implication. 

The  poet  intended  was  Samuel  Longfellow, 
whose  memory  it  is  sought  to  perpetuate  by  the 
publication  of  this  volume. 

Not  deficient,  as  his  beautiful  hymns  attest, 
in  that  power  of  poetical  expression  with  which 
genius  so  richly  endowed  the  elder  Longfellow, 
Samuel  shared  fully  with  his  gifted  brother  the 
poetic  instinct  and  the  poet's  temperament. 

In  dignity  and  simplicity  of  character ;  in 
Sweetness  and  serenity  of  disposition  ;  in  the 
single  love  of  truth,  and  in  the  pure  spirituality 
of  his  life  and  all  its  motives,  no  man  ever  sur- 
passed him.  The  desire  to  present  an  example 
of  such  traits  is  the  justification  of  this  sketch, 
and  of  the  extracts  from  Mr.  Longfellow's  corre- 


iv  PREFACE 

spondence,  which  arc  the  most  significant  part 
of  it. 

"  Letters,"  he  writes,  "  do  not  read  as  well  in 
print  as  in  manuscript."  It  may  be  that  his  own 
will  here  have  lost  something  of  their  charm, 
and  will  not  manifest  all,  or  even  much,  of  what 
he  was,  except  to  those  who  knew  him  in  life. 
Yet  it  is  hoped  that  enough  of  his  spirit  may 
linger  in  them  to  reveal  his  character  in  fair 
degree  to  such  as  first  meet  him  in  these  pages. 

A  just  account  of  Samuel  Longfellow  must 
have  adequately  disclosed  his  interior  life,  in 
which  lay  the  reality  of  the  man  and  of  his 
career.  The  only  person  who  could  have  written 
such  an  account  of  him  was  his  friend,  Samuel 
Johnson, — but  for  him  Mr.  Longfellow  had  per- 
formed this  loving  service.  It  has  been  left  for 
an  inferior  hand,  and  one  not  qualified  by  inti- 
mate acquaintance,  to  gather  up  these  scanty 
relics  of  a  saintly  history,  and  cast  them  into 
such  shape  as  it  might.  J.  M. 

Philadelphia,  April  15,  1894. 


CONTENTS 


I.  Childhood  and  Youth         .... 

II.  College 

III.  Post-Graduate  Days 

IV.  The  Divinity  School  :  Fayal  .        .        .        . 
V.  The  Candidating  Period  :  West  Cambridge 

VI.  Fall  River      ....... 

VII.  First  Visit  to  Europe       .... 

VIII.  Candidating  Again 

IX.  The  Brooklyn  Pastorate 

X.  After  P>rooklyn 

XI.  Other  Journeys  Abroad  .... 

XII.  Eighteen  Years  in  Cambridge    . 

XIII.  A  Few  Letters  to  a  Young  Friend 

XIV.  The  Germantown  Pastorate 
XV.  Closing  Years  in  Cambridge  . 

XVI.  The  Biography 

XVII.  Last  Days    ....... 


10 

14 
23 
71 
98 

154 
156 

159 
213 
230 
242 

251 
269 
289 
294 
304 


SAMUEL    LONGFELLOW 


CHILDHOOD    AND    YOUTH 

Samuel  Longfellow  was  born  on  the  eigh- 
teenth day  of  June,  1819,  in  the  beautiful  city  of 
Portland,  Maine.  That  city  has  always  had  a 
peculiar  charm  for  the  hearts  of  its  people,  and 
in  beginning  his  memoir  of  his  brother,  Mr. 
Longfellow  dwells  with  affectionate  admiration 
on  its  broad  streets,  arched  with  tall  trees ;  its 
flanking  hills  ;  its  spacious,  island-dotted  harbor, 
where  the  mightiest  ships  may  ride ;  and  the 
varied  landscape  westward,  stretching  over  val- 
leys and  hills  and  forests,  till  it  terminates  in  the 
shadowy  vision  of  Mount  Washington. 

Hither  all  his  life  he  loved  to  return  ;  here, 
when  the  end  was  nigh,  he  found  himself ;  and 
here,  where  it  began,  his  earthly  career  ter- 
minated, —  a  career  than  which  none  was  ever 
gentler,  kinder,  truer  to  conviction,  or  more  firm 
in  rectitude. 


2  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

His  birthplace  was  a  house,  now  venerable 
with  over  a  century  of  age,  and  standing  among 
great  elms  in  the  midst  of  the  bustle  of  the  city. 
Seventy  years  ago  it  was  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
town,  almost  a  rural  abode.  It  was  noted  as 
"being  the  first  brick  dwelling  built  in  Portland. 
Mr.  Longfellow's  maternal  grandfather,  General 
Peleg  Wadsworth,  had  erected  it ;  and  his  father, 
Stephen  Longfellow,  had  added  to  it  a  third  story 
as  his  family  grew. 

There  were  eight  children  in  the  household, 
four  sons,  four  daughters  ;  and  Samuel  was  the 
youngest.  Of  their  family  life  he  gives,  in  the 
memoir  of  his  brother,  a  charming  picture,  which 
no  one  else  may  venture  to  reproduce.  It  was 
refined,  orderly,  and  reHgious ;  but  easy  and 
cheerful.  Parents  were  respected,  but  loved  still 
more,  and  not  feared.  Brothers  and  sisters  lived 
together  in  a  perfect  mutual  affection  which  the 
passage  of  many  years  could  not  weaken.  The 
father,  a  classmate  at  Harvard  College  of  Judge 
Story  and  Dr.  Channing,  and  the  intimate  friend 
of  the  latter,  stood  high  in  the  community  as  a 
citizen  and  member  of  the  bar.  In  1S14  he  rep- 
resented his  district  in  the  Legislature  of  Mas- 
sachusetts, and  eight  years  later,  Maine  having 
become  a  State,  he  sat  for  a  term  in  the  lower 
House  of  the  National  Congress.     Politically  he 


CHILDHOOD   AND    YOUTH  3 

was  a  Federalist  ;  in  religion,  he  had  followed  the 
liberalizing  tendencies  of  the  time,  which,  from  a 
moderate  Calvinism,  were  shaping  the  older  Uni- 
tarianism.  If  the  tradition  repeated  by  his  son 
is  correct,  that  it  was  at  his  instance  that  the 
covenant  of  the  First  Parish  of  Portland  was 
modified  in  the  direction  of  progressive  thought, 
we  may  have  a  hint  of  the  source  of  the  son's 
ever-forward  look,  and  his  strictness  of  fidelity  to 
personal  convictions,  however  finely  distinguished. 
P'or  his  mother,  Samuel  Longfellow  through- 
out his  life  cherished  a  peculiar,  tender  devotion. 
She  was  a  lineal  descendant  of  John  Alden  and 
Priscilla  Mullens.  Of  slight  figure  and  expres- 
sive countenance,  as  he  describes  her,  she  re- 
tained through  many  later  years  of  invalidism 
the  traces  of  early  beauty.  From  her  he  may 
well  have  inherited  his  exceeding  sensitiveness ; 
his  love  of  beauty  in  nature  and  in  all  the  forms 
of  art  ;  his  serene  and  cheerful  disposition  ;  his 
fortitude  in  suffering  ;  and  especially  his  clear, 
intuitive,  spiritual  faith  and  childlike  piety.  "  She 
was,"  he  says,  ''  a  kind  friend  and  neighbor ;  a 
helper  of  the  poor  ;  a  devoted  mother  to  her 
children,  whose  confidant  she  was ;  the  sharer 
of  their  little  secrets  and  their  joys  ;  the  ready 
comforter  of  their  troubles  ;  the  patient  correc- 
tor of  their  faults." 


4  SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW 

Thus,  in  an  atmosphere  of  affection  and  com- 
fort, of  culture  and  religion,  the  boy's  life  began. 
There  are  signs  that  he  was  not  only  the  young- 
est, but  also  the  darling  of  the  family.  His  traits 
may  well  have  fitted  him  to  be  such.  Of  some- 
what delicate  organization,  yet  healthy  and  hearty, 
fond  of  fun,  and  peculiarly  susceptible  to  the  ludi- 
crous, he  was,  as  an  early  friend  describes  him, 
intelligent  without  precocity  ;  by  no  means  want- 
ing in  masculine  qualities  ;  and  not  unsocial, 
though  fond  of  his  own  companionship,  and  rather 
the  intimate  friend  of  a  select  few  than  the  hail- 
fellow  of  the  many. 

In  one  of  his  youthful  poems  he  describes  him- 
self as  "  a  dreamy  child."  He  was  quiet,  but 
happy ;  full  of  fancies  of  his  own  ;  early  coming 
to  love  reading,  writing,  and  sketching ;  prefer- 
ring these,  and  in  summer  botanizing  and  the 
cultivation  of  his  garden,  and  long  rambles  in 
the  woods  and  fields,  to  the  more  usual  sports  of 
boys.  Besides  their  own  ample  home,  with  its 
books,  music,  and  evening  games,  the  family  was 
blest  with  a  grandfather's  home  at  Gorham,  a  few 
miles  away,  and,  in  earlier  days,  another,  some- 
what farther,  where  the  children  always  had  a 
welcome  from  their  venerable  relatives,  and  could 
enjoy  a  taste  of  country  life  and  the  habits  of  the 
farm.     In  the  youthful  poem  we  have  referred 


CHILDHOOD   AND    YOUTH  5 

to,  Samuel  calls  up  the  happy  hours  spent  in 
these  scenes,  and  it  may  be  that  he  had  them  in 
mind  when,  late  in  life,  he  said  :  '*I  always  love 
to  look  upon  a  picture  of  a  pine-tree  ;  it  reminds 
me  of  my  boyhood." 

School  life  opened  under  the  guiding  care  of 
two  female  teachers,  and  at  the  proper  age,  pass- 
ing from  their  charge,  he  was  entered  at  the 
well-known  ''Portland  Academy"  to  prepare  for 
college  life.  Master  Bezaleel  Cushman  was  now 
reigning,  and  Samuel  seems  to  have  been  on 
terms  of  friendship  with  his  preceptor,  to  judge 
from  one  kindly  epistle  of  the  latter  to  his  pupil, 
which  still  exists  in  the  accurate  and  florid  manu- 
script of  the  old-time  pedagogue. 

The  curriculum  w^as  the  usual  classical  course 
of  the  day,  with  French,  which  was  apparently 
well  taught.  At  fourteen,  a  boyish  journal  shows 
Samuel  reviewing  the  second  book  of  the  Geor- 
gics,  and  beginning  the  fourth  of  the  ^neid  ; 
reading  Graeca  Minora  ;  and  writing  as  well  as 
reading  French,  which  he  likes,  and  with  which 
he  freely  ornaments  his  diary.  He  appears  to 
have  been  diligent,  but  not  to  the  exclusion  of 
occasional  lapses.  One  Thursday,  *'  got  to  school 
late,  and  missed  my  French  lesson  ;  no  matter 
(that  is,  not  7mtcJi)!' — conscience  speaking  in 
the  parenthesis.     Perhaps  this  tardiness  was  due 


6  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

to  his  brother  Henry's  being  "at  home,  for  a 
day,  from  college."  But  quite  as  likely  because 
of  another  visitor,  of  the  kind  that  always  charmed 
him,  a  baby  boy  :  *'  he  is  a  little  dear,  and  some- 
thing prettier  than  he  *  used  to  was,'  formerly." 
Next  day,  alas,  another  deficiency,  perhaps  from 
the  same  causes  :  "  had  not  time  to  get  my  les- 
son in  Virgil."  On  Saturday  he  rejoices,  too,  in 
the  accidental  exemption  from  a  duty  which  may 
well  have  been  distasteful  to  him.  "  We  did  not 
declaim,  to  my  great  joy,  for  I  had  no  piece  but 
'  Pizarro,'  and  that  is  so  old." 

Religious  culture  was  conducted  according  to 
the  orderly  customs  of  the  time.  The  two  ser- 
vices of  Sunday  were  a  matter  of  course.  But 
there  is  a  trace  of  positive  interest  in  them,  in 
Samuel's  record  of  t"he  texts  and  intelligent  com- 
ments on  the  sermons.  One  or  two  may  have 
made  a  lasting  impression.  The  minister  of  the 
First  Parish  was  Rev.  Dr.  Nichols,  revered  and 
beloved  by  his  people  through  many  years,  and 
some  of  whose  writings  were  as  household  words 
among  the  Unitarians  of  the  period  generally. 
One  afternoon  he  '*  preached  from  Luke,  '  Wist 
ye  not  that  I  must  be  about  my  Father's  busi- 
ness } '  The  sermon  was  upon  what  he  termed 
the  moral  energy  of  Christ,  which  he  said  ap- 
peared   to  him   a  more    striking  feature    in    his 


CHILDHOOD  AND    YOUTH  y 

character  than  his  gentleness  and  benevolence." 
On  January  27,  "  Mr.  Whitman,  from  Saco, 
preached,  and,  as  usual,  gave  us  a  very  good  ser- 
mon. Text,  '  I  can  do  all  things,  through  Christ 
who  strengtheneth  me.'  It  was  incumbent  on 
Christians,  he  said,  to  bear  the  misfortunes  and 
trials  of  life  in  a  peculiar  and  Christlike  manner  ; 
and  to  do  this,  they  needed  a  strength  greater 
than  their  own ;  this  strength  was  to  be  derived 
from  their  religion  and  from  observing  and  imi- 
tating the  example  of  Christ.  ...  In  the  after- 
noon we  had  another  good  sermon,  upon  Chris- 
tian moderation,  from  Philippians  iv."  .  .  .  On 
February  10,  in  the  evening,  "went  to  St.  Paul's 
to  hear  the  new  minister.  I  have  heard  him 
once  before,  on  Christmas  Day.  Do  not  like  him 
much.  He  has  a  very  careless  manner  of  read- 
ing the  prayers  and  exercises,  sometimes  fast 
and  sometimes  slow." 

Sunday-school  had  now  been  established,  but 
it  made,  perhaps,  little  impression  on  the  boy's 
mind,  and  received  no  record,  except  on  a  single 
occasion. 

One  Saturday  :  "  It  was  the  turn  of  our  class 
to  go  to  Dr.  Nichols's  this  afternoon,  and  Edward 
Weed  called  for  me.  Dr.  N.  told  us  that  his 
purpose  in  having  the  classes  at  his  house  was 
not  so  much  to  hear  their  lessons,  though  that 


8  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

was  one  reason  ;  but  that  he  might  become  ac- 
quainted with  the  children.  He  thought  a  great 
deal  of  early  impressions,  he  said.  After  he  had 
heard  us  recite  he  showed  us  a  microscope  and 
gave  us  a  shock  with  an  electrical  machine." 

Samuel  Longfellow,  as  a  man,  in  his  own  pas- 
torates, knew  well  how  to  copy  and  to  improve 
on  this  genial  and  natural  method  of  reaching 
young  minds  and  hearts. 

Besides  school  and  church  and  Sunday-school, 
the  boy  was  seasonably  introduced  to  good  liter- 
ature. The  world  was  still  in  the  fresh  delight 
of  Scott's  poems  and  novels,  and  Edgeworth  lay 
on  every  well  -  ordered  table,  especially  where 
there  were  children.  Samuel  began  to  find  his 
way  among  these  and  other  standard  authors,  and 
confided  his  artless  criticisms  to  his  diary.  He 
much  preferred  "The  Betrothed"  to  ''The 
Talisman."  Of  "Castle  Rackrent,"  he  decided: 
"  I  do  not  like  it  much,  though  perhaps  it  is  a 
good  delineation  of  Irish  character."  "  Charlotte 
Temple  "  he  thought  only  "  so-so-ish." 

He  sought  also  other  opportunities  of  intel- 
lectual culture  ;  attending,  by  himself  or  with 
a  school-friend,  courses  of  lectures  on  natural 
science,  on  which  he  variously  comments  as  "in- 
teresting" or  "tedious."  Occasionally,  on  a  Sat- 
urday, he  would   drop  into  court  to  hear  some 


CHILDHOOD  AND    YOUTH  9 

noted  pleader.  The  artifices  of  the  rhetoricians 
did  not  escape  his  observation.  Of  one,  *'he  is 
a  good  speaker,  but  rather  '  agonizing '  some- 
times; for  instance,  'did  you  not  mark,  gentle- 
men, the  downcast  eye  and  quivering  lip,  etc'  " 
With  a  crony,  he  penetrated  an  artist's  studio. 
The  painting  "  which  most  struck  my  fancy  was 
a  view  of  Sebago."  Two  portraits,  by  another 
artist,  were  *'  very  pretty,  but  extra-like  the  ori- 
ginals." One  evening,  with  the  same  companion, 
he  "  attended  a  concert  by  the  band.  It  was 
very  ^  fine,'  I  believe,  but  not  at  all  to  my  taste. 
The  music  is  quite  too  loud  and  noisy  for  me." 
In  these  sincerities  and  refinements  the  boy  was 
father  of  the  man. 

Amid  such  simple,  happy  experiences  and  sur- 
roundings, the  period  of  boyhood  was  passing 
away.  An  occasional  journey  to  the  White  Hills  ; 
picnics  on  the  islands  of  the  harbor ;  rambles  in 
Deering's  Woods ;  haying  and  egg-gathering  at  a 
grandfather's  farm,  made  the  summers  pleasant 
in  fact  and  as  lifelong  memories.  Winter  tasks 
and  the  instructions  of  Master  Cushman  were 
preparing  the  youth  for  college  and  life. 


II 

COLLEGE 

Making  his  way  alone,  by  steamer,  to  Boston, 
Samuel  Longfellow  entered  Harvard  College  as 
a  Freshman  in  the  summer  of  1835.  He  was  six- 
teen years  old,  and  brought  to  college  the  repu- 
tation of  a  fine  scholar  ;  a  love  for  good  literature 
and  for  the  beautiful  in  all  its  forms ;  an  inquir- 
ing mind  ;  a  sensitive  conscience ;  a  strong  will 
for  the  right ;  and  a  heart  which  was  to  open,  ere- 
long, with  singular  responsiveness,  to  religious  im- 
pressions and  the  suggestions  of  spiritual  things. 

There  remains  little  record  of  the  incidents  of 
his  college  life.  "  I  can  only  recollect,"  writes 
his  chum  of  the  first  year.  Rev.  Dr.  Nichols,  son 
of  his  pastor  and  an  old  school-fellow,  "  that  my 
regard  and  affection  for  him  were  daily  increased 
by  this  closest  contact  which  one  young  man  has 
with  another."  While  he  inclined,  as  in  boyhood, 
to  intimate  relations  with  a  few  friends  rather 
than  to  general  acquaintanceship,  he  was  well- 
known,  never  recluse  or  unsocial,  and  took  a  hearty 
interest  in  all  college  affairs.     He  was  an  active 


COLLEGE  1 1 

member  of  the  leading  societies,  including  the 
Institute,  the  A.  A.  $.,  the  Hasty  Pudding  Club, 
of  which  he  was  secretary,  and  the  ^.  B.  K.,  and 
his  gift  as  a  versifier  was  often  employed  to 
provide  the  songs  called  for  at  their  meetings 
and  on  the  various  occasions  of  college  festivity, 
or  a  poem  at  some  anniversary  celebration. 

A  few  stray  letters  reflect  amusingly  the  events 
and  issues  of  these  happy  days  :  — 

"  A.  A.  ^,  flourishes  like  any  green  baize  tree, 
as  Sam  says.  The  essays  are  regular,  and  the 
secretary  scolds  the  brother-scribes  in  the  warm- 
est spirit  allowed  by  the  constitution.  Another 
effort  is  to  be  made  to  secure  recognition  by  the 
Faculty.  The  Geneva  Chapter,  for  a  similar  end, 
were  obliged  to  elect  in  one  of  the  Faculty,  and 
chose  the  President,  who  was  to  be  initiated 
with  great  pomp.  Imagine  him  swearing  eter- 
nal friendship  with  Sophomores,  and  wearing  a 
breastpin !  " 

"■  Do  you  ever  meet  any  traveling  brethren  of 
the  P'raternity }  I  confess,  for  my  part,  I  rather 
favor  the  plan  of  the  Brunonians  for  dissolving  the 
whole  concern,  as  opposed  to  the  '  spirit  of  the 
age.'  The  idea  of  invisible  bonds,  and  secret 
leagues,  and  swearing  eternal  friendship  to  hun- 
dreds of  people  one  has  never  seen,  is  better 
suited  to  chivalric  times  than  to  these  days  of 


12  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

ours  when  everybody  chooses  to  go  on  his  own 
hook.  " 

Longfellow's  habits  of  study,  in  college,  though 
not  highly  methodical,  were  diligent  and  atten- 
tive, and  gave  him  both  good  standing  in  his 
class  and  the  repute  of  ability  and  promise.  His 
bent  was  especially  for  the  classics,  for  English 
literature,  and  for  history.  ''  He  was,"  says  a 
classmate,  "  easily  our  best  writer."  "  What  he 
did  not  know  about  belles-lettres,"  writes  another, 
"seemed  to  us  not  worth  knowing."  He  con- 
tinued the  French  of  his  school-days  and  added 
German,  of  which  he  became  very  fond,  making 
sufficient  progress  in  it  to  enable  him,  when  a 
resident-graduate,  to  supply  the  place  of  the  Ger- 
man instructor  during  an  illness.  It  may  be  that 
his  familiar  acquaintance  with  Italian  dates  from 
college  days.  Natural  science  also  interested 
him.  Botany  he  had  always  loved,  and  he  was 
now  attracted  to  astronomy,  for  the  study  of 
which,  with  seven  of  his  friends,  he  formed  a 
club,  called  "  The  Octagon."  The  element  of 
pleasure  was  not  left  out  of  this  youthful  or- 
ganization, but  they  essayed  something  of  seri- 
ous work;  going  to  the  observatory  to  study 
the  phenomena  of  the  heavens,  or  watching  the 
Northern  Lights  and  meteors  from  their  windows 
or  convenient  roofs.     Papers  were  prepared  and 


COLLEGE  13 

read  at  their  meetings,  and  the  memory  of  these 
hours  pleasantly  survived,  as  such  recollections 
will,  through  all  the  later  days  of  the  little  group. 
Writing  from  Portland,  during  a  vacation,  to  his 
classmate  and  lifelong  friend,  Edward  Everett 
Hale,  he  is  anxious  to  know  whether  a  remark- 
able aurora,  of  which  he  had  slept  unconscious 
on  the  steamer,  had  been  observed  by  The  Octa- 
gon ;  and  discusses  gravely,  with  a  mind  open  to 
conviction,  the  existence  of  that  perennial  curi- 
osity, the  sea-serpent.  The  supposition  that  such 
a  reptile  might  have  survived  from  primeval 
times  he  thinks  reasonable.  That  on  their  in- 
numerable trips  back  and  forth  the  officers  of 
the  coastwise  steamers  should  never  have  seen 
one  is  a  negative  argument  of  weight. 

Thus  passed,  as  is  evident  from  his  subsequent 
letters  and  his  enduring  love  for  his  college, 
four  happy  and  useful  years.  The  annals  of 
youth  are  meagre,  but  it  is  in  such  simple  ex- 
periences that  character  is  formed  and  a  treas- 
ure of  happy  memories  accumulated.  That  for 
Longfellow  it  was  a  formative  period,  of  earnest 
thought  and  feeling  and  real  growth,  his  later 
correspondence  plainly  intimates.  But  the  ma- 
turing of  his  mind  was  to  be  the  work  of  a  period 
still  a  few  years  in  advance. 


Ill 

POST-GRADUATE    DAYS 

After  graduation,  Longfellow  made,  in  the 
autumn  of  1839,  ^  ^^^t  essay  in  real  life  as 
teacher  of  a  home  school,  conducted  on  the 
estate  of  a  Southern  gentleman,  near  Baltimore. 
About  November  ist,  he  wrote,  in  Boston,  a 
hasty  note,  en  passant,  to  his  friend  Hale. 
" '  I  'm  off,'  as  the  inhabitant  of  the  mysterious 
mustard-pot  said,  on  my  way  to  Elk  Ridge, 
Maryland,  to  take  charge  of  a  dozen  or  so  boys, 
and  live  in  the  family  of  Mr.  Daniel  Murray." 
Here  he  remained  a  year,  in  a  kindly,  refined, 
and  sensible  circle,  whose  traits,  habits,  and 
modes  of  thought,  contrasted  as  they  were  with 
those  of  the  Northern  people,  interested  him, 
and  among  whom  he  became  much  at  home. 
The  characters  of  these  friends  commanded  his 
respect,  and  their  kind  ways  won  his  attachment. 
It  is  strange  that  no  reference  to  slavery  occurs 
in  his  letters  which  remain,  yet  it  would  hardly 
seem  possible  that  he  was  not  in  contact  with  it. 
Perhaps,  however,  his  deep  abhorrence  and  pro- 


POST-GRADUATE   DAYS  1 5 

found  opposition  to  the  institution  in  later  days 
were  begotten  in  him  at  this  period,  by  a  close 
observation  of  its  evils  and  shames. 

At  the  end  of  the  year  he  decided  to  return 
home,  notwithstanding  pressing  entreaties  to 
remain.  The  school  had  grown  much  beyond 
its  original  numbers,  and  the  task  of  discipline 
had  become  unpleasing  to  him.  He  was  eager 
to  return  to  Cambridge  and  to  find  his  means  of 
support  in  private  tutoring.  Yet  he  had  experi- 
enced a  disenchantment  which  usually  awaits 
the  returning  alumnus.  On  June  5,  1840,  he 
wrote  to  Hale  from  Philadelphia,  on  his  way 
South  :  *'  Cambridge  —  shall  I  say  it }  —  did  not, 
after  all,  appear  to  me  quite  the  paradise  I  had 
fancied.  I  did  not  feel  quite  so  glad  to  get  back 
as  I  had  thought  I  should  do.  Ever  since  I  left,  I 
had  looked  forward  with  some  hope  of  returning 
there  for  a  year  or  perhaps  more.  It  was  the 
height  of  my  ambition,  when  in  college,  to  re- 
main as  a  resident-graduate,  and  avail  myself  of 
the  opportunities  there  so  fully  offered,  of  pur- 
suing further  and  more  thoroughly  such  gen- 
eral studies  as  my  inclination  prompted.  The 
reason  why  the  place  appeared  less  charming 
is  no  doubt  obvious  enough.  Class  feelings  and 
college  feelings  form  so  essential  a  part  of  the 
college   student's   life,   and   are   so  woven    into 


1 6  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

all  its  pleasures,  that  a  return  under  different 
circumstances  could  not  but  give  things  quite  a 
changed  aspect.  Nevertheless,  as  I  was  asked 
to  come  back  and  take  three  or  four  little  shavers 
to  teach,  I  think,  if  I  can  arrange  matters  to  suit 
at  C,  I  shall  say  good-by  to  dear  Mr.  IMurray 
next  fall." 

A  month  later  he  was  still  considering  the 
matter,  with  the  earnestness  which  a  young  man 
puts  into  these,  to  him,  important  life  questions. 
"  Whether  it  be  worth  a  person's  while  to  spend 
a  year  at  Cambridge  as  resident-graduate  I  am 
not  quite  sure.  When  in  college  I  used  to  think 
it  would  be  a  kind  of  Himmels-erde,  as  you  used 
to  say.  But  I  am  afraid  that  a  lazy  man,  like 
me,  who  should  nominally  devote  his  whole  time 
to  private,  general  study,  would  n't  accomplish 
much ;  some  external  force  is  needed,  such  as  is 
supplied,  in  studying  a  profession,  by  the  definite 
aim  in  view.  At  any  rate,  I  should  prefer,  in  my 
own  case,  to  have  some  regular  engagement  a 
part  of  the  day." 

That  his  thoughts  were  turning  towards  the 
profession  which  was  the  inevitable  one  for  him 
is  perhaps  suggested  in  what  follows  :  "■  I  was 
amused,"  he  says  to  Hale,  "  at  your  unchanged 
hostility  to  the  Divinity  School,  as  manifested  in 
the  appellation  of  *  monastic  institution,'  though, 


POST-GRADUATE   DAYS  1/ 

to  be  sure,  that  is  an  improvement  on  '  Ortho- 
pedic Infirmary.'  Nevertheless,  I  was  inclined 
to  agree  with  you  in  your  views  of  the  importance 
of  scientific  theology.  Think  of  the  idea  of  '  dog- 
matic theology '  in  connection  with  the  teaching 
of  Jesus  Christ,  who  certainly,  as  he  is  the  ex- 
amplar  of  all  Christians,  is  peculiarly  such  of  the 
Christian  minister.  I  do  not  mean,  of  course,  to 
deny  the  need  of  an  '  educated  ministry,*  nor  to 
suggest  that  the  mere  name  and  office  will  confer 
an  inspiration,  rendering  all  else  needless.  Let 
our  clergymen  continue  to  bring  the  best  talents 
and  best  educated  talents  to  their  work ;  for 
scarce  any  department  of  learning  but  may  be 
made  useful  as  subsidiary  to  their  profession. 
But  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  the  great  de- 
ficiency of  Unitarian  preachers,  which  even  Uni- 
tarians are  beginning  to  see  and  acknowledge, 
—  their  forgetting,  apparently,  that  man  has 
a  *  living  spirit '  as  well  as  a  thinking  mind,  — 
may  be  in  some  measure  traced  to  the  course 
of  their  studies  in  preparation  for  their  office. 
And,  as  you  suggest,  men  placing  so  little  stress, 
as  we  rightly  do,  on  mere  doctrines  and  matters 
of  belief  have  something  better  to  do  than  spend 
much  time  on  a  technical  divinity  suited  well 
enough  to  the  controversial  divines  of  earlier 
days.      M.  says  he  shall  not  study  Hebrew  be- 


1 8  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

cause  he  will  have  the  New  Testament  to  preach 
and  not  the  old  Jewish  law.  I  am  not  sure  that 
he  is  quite  right ;  and,  perhaps,  Dr.  Ware  or 
Dr.  Palfrey  would  say  the  same,  or  something 
stronger,  of  the  idea  which  I  have  thrown  out, 
crudely  enough,  above.  It  seems  to  be  evident 
that  new  and  more  enlightened  views  are  begin- 
ning to  be  taken  of  the  true  character  and  position 
of  the  minister,  and  I  should  like  to  wait  the 
results.  Perhaps  it  would  only  be  waiting  for 
the  river  to  run  by." 

After  the  momentary  disenchantment  which 
he  experienced  on  his  return  to  Cambridge, 
Longfellow  found  the  years  he  spent  there,  after 
college,  much  as  he  had  previously  imagined 
them.  They  were  evidently  very  useful  and 
happy  ;  his  life  conformed  much  to  his  natural 
taste  for  quiet,  and  his  disposition  to  follow  the 
bent  of  the  hour  in  studying  and  thinking. 

His  pupils,  regular  or  occasional,  gave  him 
enough  of  stated  occupation  to  prevent  the  list- 
lessness  he  had  feared  without  it,  and  for  the 
rest  of  his  time  he  had  abundant  resources  in  his 
love  of  literature  and  philosophy  and  in  the 
cultivation  of  his  tastes.  Music  was,  lifelong, 
his  unfailing  resource.  He  enjoyed  it  in  its 
classical  forms,  and  had  a  great  love  for  simple 
and    expressive    melodies.       From    Cambridge, 


POST-GRADUATE  DAYS  1 9 

recourse  was  easy  to  the  musical  privileges  of 
Boston,  and  he  constantly  availed  himself  of 
them.  All  other  forms  of  art  attracted  an  equally 
appreciative  attention.  Even  the  exquisite  per- 
formances of  that  ''living  poem  of  motion," 
Fanny  Elssler,  the  famous  danseuse,  gave  him 
intense  pleasure. 

Part  of  the  time  he  was  proctor,  a  college  offi- 
cial the  duties  of  whose  office  have  never  been 
oppressive.  The  most  exacting  of  them  was  at- 
tendance at  daily  prayers,  morning  and  evening. 
The  jejune  character  of  these  exercises  he  notes, 
yet  sees  the  advantage  and  interest  of  a  daily 
assemblage  of  all  the  college.  ''After  all,  it  is 
not  so  much  of  a  hardship,"  he  says,  "to  get  up 
in  the  morning  when  a  bell  is  ringing  in  your  ears 
two  rods  away ;  what  I  dislike  is  being  tied  down 
to  six  p.  M."  One  of  his  favorite  enjoyments  is 
suggested  in  a  note  which  he  sends  from  the 
A.  A.  <I>.  room  to  Hale  in  Boston.  "What  do  you 
think  P.  and  I  are  doing  in  the  Germanic  way  } 
Reading  Schiller's  '  Rauber '  o'  nights.  It  is 
somewhat  raw -head- and -bloody -bones,  —  about 
every  other  word  being  'Holle  und  Verdammniss,* 
—  with  occasional  touches  of  sentimentalism  and 
recollections  of  childhood  and  innocence  on  the 
part  of  the  robber-captain." 

An  occasional  intimation  of  Longfellow's  let- 


20  SAMUEL   LOXG FELLOW 

ters  at  this  time  begins  to  forebode  that  burthen 
of  suffering  and  debility  which  became  so  impor- 
tant an  element  in  his  experience,  and  which 
weighed  so  heavily  upon  his  ability  to  discharge 
the  active  duties  of  life.  "The  fact  is,  I  have 
felt  in  the  most  miserable,  wilted,  incapable- 
of-mental-or-physical-exertion  state  all  day  long. 
This  Indian  summer  may  be  very  poetical  and 
very  good  so  far  forth  as  it  is  an  Indian  summer, 
but  its  effects  upon  my  bodily  frame  have  been 
of  the  most  disagreeable  description.  I  felt  too 
wretched  to  come  in  to  the  nights  and  suppers 
of  the  gods  at  Ryan's,  where  you  are  now  enjoy- 
ing yourselves.     The  best  thing  I  can  do  is  to 

go  to  bed. 

"  '  Dear  Damon,  I  am  sick.' 

"  I  am  going,  I  know,  to  pass  a  miserable 
night  ;  nevertheless,  I  am  virtuous  enough  to 
wish  you  a  good  one." 

Although  only  fragments  of  a  desultory  corre- 
spondence survive  from  this  period,  it  appears 
singular  that  there  occurs  in  them  no  reference 
to  Longfellow's  choice  of  a  calling,  and  scarcely 
any  to  religious  subjects  in  general.  The  reserve 
which  was  peculiarly  characteristic  of  him  may 
account  for  the  latter.  *'  The  occasions  are  few," 
he  writes,  a  little  later,  *'  when  I  can  have  such 
converse  [upon  deep  themes],  for  it  is  impossible 


POST-GRADUATE   DAYS  21 

for  me  to  speak  of  such  things  unless  I  am  sure 
to  meet  with  sympathy." 

It  may  be  that  entrance  upon  the  ministry 
was,  for  him,  so  natural  a  step,  and  so  well  under- 
stood among  his  friends,  as  to  call  for  little  par- 
ticular mention.  But  even  on  the  humanitarian 
and  ethical  side  of  his  nature,  some  of  the  sym- 
pathies which  were  soon  to  show  themselves 
most  warm  and  controlling  in  Samuel  Longfel- 
low's mind  had  not  been  quickened  in  him  at  the 
age  of  twenty-three,  nor  had  he  awakened  to 
some  interests  which  were  to  seem  to  him  among 
the  most  important.  An  incident  which  illus- 
trates this  is  very  striking,  in  view  of  the  future 
development  of  his  character.  In  March,  1842, 
a  convention  was  called  in  Boston  by  Ralph 
Waldo  Emerson,  Amos  Bronson  Alcott,  Maria 
Weston  Chapman,  and  Edmund  Ouincy,  —  "a 
committee  appointed  at  the  Chardon  Street  Con- 
vention of  October  28,  1841,  to  call  a  Convention 
for  the  public  discussion  of  the  credibility  and 
authority  of  the  Scriptures  of  the  Old  and  New 
Testaments."  William  Lloyd  Garrison  was  among 
those  interested  in  this  meeting,  but  he  was  de- 
tained from  it  by  illness.  The  names  of  these 
persons  are  now  a  guarantee  of  the  seriousness 
and  dignity  of  purpose  in  which  the  meeting  was 
called.     But  how  it  then  appeared  to  our  young 


22  SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW 

resident-graduate,  how  little  its  aim  or  spirit  ap- 
pealed to  him,  are  indicated  in  his  letter  to  Hale 
of  March  29th. 

"  I  was  getting  ready  to  come  into  Boston  this 
morning  to  make  you  go  with  me  to  the  Conven- 
tion, when  I  found  by  the  *  Post '  that  it  had  ad- 
journed sine  die.  I  have  seldom  been  more  vexed, 
having  made  up  my  mind  not  to  miss  this,  as  I 
had  done  the  others.  I  chose  the  second  day  as 
likely  to  afford  the  most  fun,  taking  it  for  granted 
the  first  would  be  taken  up  with  getting  under 
way.  There  is  no  chance,  I  suppose,  of  these 
people  getting  together  again  ;  and  it  is  a  phe- 
nomenon, and,  as  you  might  say,  a  *  phase '  of 
the  spirit  of  the  age,  one  does  n't  like  to  die  with- 
out having  seen.  However,  I  expect  to  see  fun- 
nier things  yet." 

But  these  were  only  the  crude  impressions  of 
a  youth  reared  under  the  highly  conservative 
traditions  of  New  England  society ;  hitherto  a 
student  of  books  only ;  long  cloistered  in  the 
academic  seclusion  of  a  college,  and  who  had 
not  yet  found  his  real  self.  This  immaturity 
was  to  yield  quickly  to  the  touch  of  real  life,  and 
to  the  stimulating  influences  which  Longfellow 
was  presently  to  encounter. 


IV 

THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL  :    FAYAL 

In  the  autumn  of  1842,  Samuel  Longfellow 
entered  the  Divinity  School  of  Harvard  Univer- 
sity. It  was  an  epoch  in  his  experience.  He 
now  took  up,  definitely,  the  serious  work  of  life, 
after  the  somewhat  dilettante  interval  of  his  resi- 
dent-graduate years ;  he  came  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  Transcendental  movement,  then  at 
its  height,  and  he  was  to  form  the  closest  and 
most  inspiring  friendship  of  his  life.  Perhaps 
the  latter,  to  one  who  had  such  a  genius  for 
friendship,  was  the  most  important  condition  of 
all  in  the  development  of  his  character  and 
thought.  After  forty  years  of  closest  intimacy, 
Mr.  Longfellow  presented  an  estimate  of  Samuel 
Johnson  in  a  brief  memoir,  and  we  need  only 
refer  to  that  for  an  apprehension  of  the  qualities 
of  a  brave,  talented,  and  faithful  man  and  scholar, 
whose  life  and  labors  were  quietly,  and  even 
obscurely,  pursued,  and  have  not  yet,  perhaps, 
been  justly  appreciated. 

Johnson  was  a  man  of  exceptional  intellectual 


24  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

power  and  brilliancy ;  of  wide,  thorough,  and 
accurate  scholarship  ;  imaginative,  introspective, 
rigidly  conscientious  ;  a  typical  transcendentalist 
in  temperament  and  modes  of  thought.  While 
Longfellow  was  calm,  meditative,  and  debonair, 
social  in  disposition,  and  desultory  in  his  habits 
of  thought  and  study,  his  friend  was  austere, 
strenuous,  systematic,  and  of  tireless  industry. 
An  extreme  individualist,  Johnson's  habits  were 
naturally  recluse.  In  dealing  with  debated  ques- 
tions he  was  dogmatic  and  aggressive.  He 
shared  with  Longfellow  a  highly  poetical  nature ; 
and  his  poems,  while  fewer,  were  even  of  a  higher 
artistic  quality  and  grander  strain.  The  two 
friends  were  at  one  in  the  spirituality  of  their 
habitual  thought,  and  their  vivid  apprehension  of 
the  facts  and  relations  of  the  spiritual  world. 
With  Johnson,  however,  while  his  intuitions  of 
divine  things  were,  perhaps,  loftier  and  more 
intense,  they  were  rather  by  the  avenue  of  the 
intellect.  To  Longfellow,  these  verities  were 
known  by  that  direct  cognizance  which  is  as 
spiritual  vision.  The  latter  was  of  much  wider 
and  warmer  personal  sympathies ;  more  patient 
of  opposition  and  of  the  slow  response  of  their 
age  to  the  truths  with  which  they  both  yearned 
to  enlighten  and  enfranchise  it.  But  Johnson, 
also,    was   a   tenderly    loving   son,   brother,  and 


THE   DIVINITY  SCHOOL  25 

friend  ;  a  devoted  pastor  ;  earnest,  self-sacrificing, 
and  practical  in  the  promotion  of  social  reforms. 
In  moral  fervor  and  firmness,  and  in  the  radical 
quality  of  all  their  thought,  these  men,  so  con- 
genial to  each  other,  were  indeed  "  nobly  peers." 

The  Divinity  School  of  Harvard  University 
at  this  time,  as  for  long  afterwards,  was  most 
meagrely  endowed  and  equipped.  Henry  Ware, 
Henry  Ware,  Jr.,  and  Dr.  John  G.  Palfrey  had 
but  recently  resigned.  Dr.  Francis  and  Dr. 
Noyes  were  in  the  charge  of  the  school,  doing, 
as  Mr.  Longfellow  says,  "the  work  of  four 
professors."  Of  these  very  able  and  excellent 
men  the  former  was  an  encyclopedic  scholar; 
refined,  genial,  and  sensitive  ;  full  of  sympathy 
and  help  for  any  student  who  showed  signs  of 
real  scholarship ;  opening  the  stores  of  his  own 
learning  and  the  contents  of  his  library,  freely 
and  kindly,  to  any  such  who  sought  his  aid  ; 
conservative  in  temperament  and  cautious  in 
expression,  but  thought  to  be  broader  in  his 
esoteric  views  than  in  his  pubHc  utterances  ; 
formal  and  reserved,  yet  cordial,  in  personal 
intercourse ;  fluent  but  prosaic  in  his  public 
offices ;  a  true  gentleman  and  thoroughly  a 
clergyman  of  the  old  school.  Both  he  and  his 
colleague  were  nearly  fifty  years  of  age. 

Dr.  Noyes,  ''the  Rabbi,"  as  he  was  affection- 


26  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

ately  called  by  the  students,  was  a  small,  wiry, 
grim  but  good-humored  man,  probably  the  best 
Hebrew  scholar  of  his  day  in  this  country  ;  of 
quiet  and  even  shy  manners,  but  incisive  in 
speech,  and  of  a  dry  and  occasionally  caustic  wit ; 
rigidly  upright ;  as  an  exegete  and  translator  hav- 
ing no  views  of  his  own,  but  devoted  with  unquali- 
fied singleness  of  mind  to  identifying  the  meaning 
of  his  author.  The  lectures  and  recitations  con- 
ducted by  these  good  men  were  full  of  the  best 
learning  of  their  generation.  They  taught,  or 
meant  to  teach,  the  youth  before  them  to  search 
for  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  fearing  no 
consequences  ;  but  they  belonged,  especially  Dr. 
Francis,  to  a  former  time  ;  their  methods  were 
scholastic  and  antiquated  ;  in  later  days,  at  least, 
their  exercises  were  tedious  and  uninspiring  in 
the  extreme. 

Among  the  students  with  whom  Longfellow 
became  associated  in  the  different  classes  of  the 
school  was  a  full  proportion  of  men  who  were  to 
be  eminent  for  learning,  practical  usefulness,  or 
profound  and  progressive  thinking.  Of  these, 
for  him,  Samuel  Johnson  was,  of  course,  facile 
princcps.  But  there  were  others,  in  character, 
scholarship,  power  of  thought,  philanthropic  zeal, 
and  devotion  to  their  calling,  fully  his  peers. 
Joseph   Henry  Allen,  Charles    Henry  Brigham, 


THE   DIVINITY  SCIIOOI  2/ 

Edmund  Burke  Willson,  Thomas  Hill,  John 
Farwell  Moors,  Octavius  Brooks  Frothingham, 
William  Rounseville  Alger,  Thomas  Wentworth 
Higginson,  Grindall  Reynolds,  were  some  of 
them.  Johnson  found  the  school  "cold  and 
spellbound,"  and  it  is  likely  that  few  of  his  fellow- 
students  could  follow  his  idealistic  flights  and 
"Transcendental  Reveries."  But  where  such 
men  were  gathered  and  at  work,  in  all  the  warmth 
and  earnestness  of  ingenuous,  ambitious  youth, 
there  could  hardly  be  a  real  stagnation  and  chill. 
Yet  they  were  all  together,  indeed,  under  the 
"  spell  "  of  their  generation,  which  was  only  be- 
ginning to  burst  the  fetters  of  traditional  opinion 
and  sentiment  which  hung  heavily  in  those  days 
upon  the  Unitarian  community.  A  new  learning 
had  to  be  developed  and  justified  before  this  eman- 
cipation should  be  accomplished.  But  the  crisis 
was  upon  them  ;  the  dawn  of  a  genuine  liberalism 
was  breaking,  and  its  rays  were  piercing  the 
sombre  evergreens  about  Divinity  Hall.  "The 
Transcendental  movement  .  .  .  was  then  at  full 
tide.  The  germs  of  it  had  been  already  in  Dr. 
Channing's  sermons.  Dr.  Henry  had  translated 
Cousin's  *  Criticism  of  Locke ; '  Emerson  had 
printed  '  Nature '  and  the  early  addresses  at 
Cambridge,  Dartmouth,  and  Waterville,  —  this 
last  his  completest  expression  of  spiritual  pan- 


28  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

theism,  —  and  had  collected  and  edited  the  chap- 
ters of  *  Sartor  Resartus  ;'  Dr.  Walker  had  given 
his  Lowell  lectures  on  Natural  Religion,  dis- 
tinctly based  on  the  existence  in  man  of  certain 
spiritual  faculties  which  he  held  to  be  as  trust- 
worthy guides  to  spiritual  truths  as  the  senses 
and  understanding  are  to  physical  facts."  ^ 

The  young  men  had  also  found  out  certain 
German  and  French  philosophers  and  mystics  ; 
and  in  biblical  exegesis  were  reading,  beside 
the  old  stand-bys,  DeWette's  "Introduction" 
and  Strauss's  "  Life  of  Jesus."  They  were  going 
into  Boston  to  hear  Theodore  Parker,  who  had 
secured  his  "  chance  to  be  heard  "  there,  and 
was  vigorously  improving  it. 

At  the  same  time,  the  inspiring  tides  of  the 
antislavery  controversy  were  surging  throughout 
the  land,  washing  away  many  prejudices  and 
traditions  besides  those  strictly  germane  to  itself, 
and  making  men  see  all  truth  more  clearly.  The 
Texas  debate  and  that  over  the  Mexican  War 
came  on,  and  made  politics  exciting  and  bitter, 
yet  infused  into  them  a  profoundly  moral  ele- 
ment. 

All  these  influences  expended  themselves  on 
the  little  community  of  the  Divinity  School,  ex- 
citing endless  discussions  within  and  without  the 

1  Memoir  of  Samuel  Johnson,  page  14. 


THE   DIVINITY  SCHOOL  29 

lecture-rooms,  stimulating  deeply  the  minds  and 
consciences  of  the  students.  Recitations  were 
not  seldom  the  scene  of  hot  debates,  in  which 
the  professors  had  to  descend  to  the  level  of  the 
combatants,  and  at  times  to  act  with  some  energy 
on  the  defensive.  But,  especially,  controversy 
raged  in  the  weekly  debating  meetings.  "  Do 
you  still  combat  Willsonianisms  on  Friday 
nights  } "  Longfellow  writes  to  Johnson,  later. 
He  was  never  an  eager,  nor  even  a  willing,  dis- 
putant ;  but  he  was  singularly  clear  and  firm  in 
his  convictions,  which  he  expressed  with  posi- 
tiveness  and  gravity,  but  preferably  as  intuitions 
rather  than  argumentatively.  Unkind  he  could 
not  be,  yet  he  was  not  quite  incapable  of  pre- 
judices, in  these  early  days,  nor  of  something 
like  partisanship,  as  his  references  to  typical 
conservatives  sometimes  show.  His  opinions, 
thus  far,  were  apparently  little  modified  from 
those  of  the  Unitarianism  in  which  he  had  been 
brought  up.  But  he  was  a  radical  and  a  tran- 
scendentalist  by  nature,  and  these  traits  were 
fast  determining  him  to  views  in  religion  much 
in  advance  of  the  prevailing  Unitarian  thought. 
We  can,  even  now,  range  pretty  surely  the 
partisans  in  those  youthful  discussions  in  Divin- 
ity Hall. 

After  a  year  of  this  new  and  stimulating  life, 


30  SAMUEL    LONGFELLOW 

Longfellow  seems  to  have  found  his  health  im- 
paired, and  he  accepted  an  invitation  to  go  out 
to  Fayal  as  tutor  in  the  family  of  Mr.  Charles 
W.  Dabney,  long  United  States  consul  at  the 
Azores.  That  gentleman,  by  enterprise,  force  of 
character,  public  spirit,  and  benevolence,  had 
become,  as  it  were,  a  feudal  chieftain  on  his 
island.  Surrounded  by  a  large  circle  of  his  rela- 
tives and  descendants,  he  lived  with  them  a 
charming  life  of  refinement,  bounty,  hospitality, 
and  usefulness,  in  the  midst  of  the  half-tropical 
loveliness  and  balmy  atmosphere  of  (as  Long- 
fellow calls  it  in  the  words  of  some  other)  ''  the 
green  and  breezy  isle."  Such  a  setting  to  exis- 
tence, and  the  habits  of  such  a  family,  were 
thoroughly  congenial  to  our  student,  and  the  year 
was  delightful  and  reinvigorating  to  him.  His 
duties  were  light,  and  of  the  kind  which,  with  his 
love  of  the  young,  he  especially  enjoyed.  The 
mild  climate  was  very  agreeable,  and  the  pictur- 
esque scenery  gratified  his  sense  of  beauty.  Mr. 
Dabney's  family  he  called,  in  one  of  his  letters 
home,  ''  the  best  in  the  world." 


FAYAL  31 

TO    EDWARD    EVERETT    HALE. 

HoRTA,  Fayal,  June  ii,  1843, 
Sunday  Morning. 

My  dear  Edward,  —  Some  of  the  family  have 
gone  to  church  this  morning,  but  as  I  am  quite 
satisfied,  for  the  present,  with  High  Mass,  I  con- 
sider it  no  loss  to  stay  at  home  and  finish  my 
budget  of  letters. 

We  did  not  get  away  from  Boston  till  Sunday, 
five  weeks  ago  to-day.  Saturday  I  was  in  town 
doing  some  last  things,  —  I  thought  those  last 
things  would  last  forever,  —  and  called  at  your 
door ;  but  ah  !  with  the  thunder-word  was  it 
opened,  '  He  you  seek  has  gone  to  Northampton.' 
I  spared  myself  the  pang  of  saying  good-by  again 
to  your  sisters,  and  wended  my  way  to  Howe's 
wharf  and  the  brig  Harbinger.  Pleasant  it  was 
to  me  to  find  the  memorial  of  yourself  which 
you  had  left  on  the  cabin-table  ;  most  pleasant 
as  your  gift ;  most  pleasant,  for  thy  sake,  gentle 
Charles !  And  let  me  add  that  you  could  not 
have  made  a  better  selection  even  had  you  known, 
as  I  almost  fancied  you  must,  how  long  and  how 
longingly  I  had  been  watching  a  copy  of  Lamb's 
works  on  Mr.  O.'s  counter  ;  how  "  I  had  looked 
at  the  book  and  thought  of  the  money  and  looked 
at   the    money  and    thought   of   the  purchase." 


32  SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW 

The  little  note  I  did  not  find  till  (and  it  was 
doubly  welcome  then)  one  morning,  after  I  had 
done  being  seasick,  when  I  took  the  volume  out 
of  its  envelope  to  read  upon  deck.  .  .  . 

As  yet,  I  have  picked  up  here  only  two  little 
legends  :  one,  that  Columbus,  in  his  early  visits 
to  these  islands,  was  v/ont  to  stand  for  hours  on 
the  western  shore  gazing  toward  the  setting  sun, 
setting  to  rise  upon  Cipango  and  Cathay  ;  the 
other  (and  they  evidently  belong  together,  though 
I  got  them  from  very  different  sources),  that 
there  is  on  one  of  these  islands,  Flores  or  Corvo, 
the  memory  of  a  statue  which  once  stood  there 
with  its  finger  pointing  to  the  west.  .  .  . 

Don't  let  any  of  your  friends  persuade  you,  as 
some  of  mine  tried  to  do  (I  did  not  believe  a 
word  of  it,  though,  and  so  was  not  disappointed), 
that  there  is  any  enjoyment  in  a  sea  voyage.  I 
deliberately  declare  that  I  did  not  have  more 
than  two  hours  of  positive  pleasure  in  the  whole 
nineteen  days.  I  was  seasick,  more  or  less,  for 
a  week,  and,  after  that,  so  dull  and  listless,  so 
guiltless  of  thought,  feeling,  or  fancy,  that  it 
seemed  as  if  I  must  have  returned  to  that  state 
of  oysterdom  in  which,  according  to  Dean  Pal- 
frey, I  once  learned  patience.  What  would  I 
have  given,  what  would  any  one  of  us  have  given, 
for  a  hearty  laugh  !     I  was  not  moved,  either,  by 


FA  YAL  33 

any  sublimity  in  the  ocean,  and  in  this  I  was 
much  disappointed.  In  fact,  I  think  it  needs  to 
be  seen  from  the  shore,  with  a  fine  rocky  fore- 
ground, or  a  strip  of  silver  sand. 

But  it  is  time  I  told  you  something  of  the 
shore.  On  the  morning  of  the  26th  of  May  we 
rounded  a  rocky  headland  and  saw  the  white, 
red-tiled  houses  and  churches  of  Horta  stretching 
crescent-wise  before  us,  with  a  background  of 
green  cultivated  hills.  I  reeled  up  the  pier  with 
Miss  R.  on  my  arm,  and  we  were  soon  seated 
in  Mrs.  Dabney's  comfortable  parlor,  sweet  with 
the  fragrance  of  flowers.  How  grateful  it  was ! 
I  have  not  yet  commenced  tutorial  labors  ;  in- 
deed, the  visit  of  the  "Harbinger"  is  always  holU 
day.  We  have  amused  ourselves,  when  it  has 
not  rained,  by  various  walks  through  the  town 
and  excursions  into  the  country.  Everything  is 
odd,  foreign  and  picturesque.  The  most  impor- 
tant excursion  we  have  taken  was  our  visit,  last 
Tuesday,  to  the  Caldeira,  or  crater,  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  island.  No  longer  ebullient,  it  has 
not  even  smoked  within  the  memory  of  man.  A 
large  party  we  were,  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  on 
horses,  donkeys,  and  feet.  I  found  a  walk  of  eight 
miles  up  a  constant  and  very  rough  ascent,  in 
the  middle  of  a  hot  day,  not  a  little  fatiguing, 
and  perhaps  for  this  reason  was  little  moved  by 


34  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

a  scene  which  is  expected,  I  believe,  to  put  stran- 
gers into  raptures.  In  the  midst  of  a  steep  and 
barren  common,  covered  with  moss  and  heath, 
you  come,  all  at  once,  upon  a  huge  cup,  five  miles 
in  circumference  and  perfectly  regular  ;  so  deep 
that  the  sheep  feeding  at  the  bottom  looked  no 
larger  than  white  mice ;  its  sides  channeled  with 
rains,  and  within  it  a  gloomy  Stygian  lake  and  a 
smaller  cone  and  crater.  The  whole  scene  was 
wild  and  gloomy,  but  had  little  beauty.  Not  so, 
however,  the  Valley  of  the  Flemings,  which  we 
passed  through  at  sunset  on  our  return  ;  the 
Happy  Valley  itself  was  not  more  lovely,  —  the 
green  hillsides  and  steep  ravine  ;  the  dark  stone 
bridge  spanning  the  river-bed  ;  the  white  cot- 
tages with  the  red-tiled  roofs  ;  the  villagers  in 
gayest  dress,  for  it  was  a  holiday ;  the  church- 
bell  ringing  and  music  of  guitars  from  the  houses  ; 
over  all,  the  light  of  a  summer  afternoon.  I 
promise  myself  many  a  pleasant  ramble  through 
this  charming  valley  and  many  a  trophy  for  my 
sketch-book.  Of  churches  and  convents,  of  our 
outdoor  and  indoor  life,  with  family  sketches, 
such  as  I  used  to  write  from  Elk  Ridge,  you  shall 
hear  next  time. 

The    following    letter    exhibits    Longfellow's 
extreme   modesty,  often  in    his    early  years  ap- 


FAYAL  35 

proaching  self-depreciation,  which  was  a  charac- 
teristic trait.  His  underlying  self-confidence, 
which  made  him  so  singularly  firm  in  moral 
decisions,  appears  at  its  close.  But  we  have 
here,  chiefly,  some  of  the  struggles  of  introspec- 
tive youth,  and  its  transcendental  musings. 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

HoRTA,  November  2t,  1S43. 

I  thank  you,  my  dear  Sam,  for  those  beautiful 
verses,  your  ''  Orphic  Hymn,"  which  breathes  life 
again  into  that  dead  fable,  once  indeed  a  living 
symbol,  as  are  all  those  beautiful  myths  in  which 
the  poets  —  poets  and  prophets  —  of  that  fair 
Grecian  world  shrined  their  wonderful  truths. 
Pray  send  me  all  your  poetry.  For  myself,  I 
have  scarce  written  anything  of  prose  or  verse 
since  I  have  been  here  —  save  letters.  Indeed, 
I  have  thought  but  little  ;  less,  much  less,  than 
I  hoped  and  expected.  Still,  I  have  lived  some 
beautiful  hours  and  had  some  revelations  from 
the  world  around  me,  —  revelations  which  have 
given  peace  to  my  soul  and  which  I  hope  may 
prove  nourishing  dews  to  the  germs  of  spiritual 
life  within  me.  And  yet,  at  times,  —  I  cannot 
help  it,  —  I  feel  sad  and  depressed  at  the  con- 
sciousness of  my  want  of  intellectual  develop- 
ment.    You  cannot  tell   how   much    I    suffered 


36  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

when  I  first  came  here.  I  was  very  dull,  and 
silent,  and  stupid,  and  then  much  ashamed  and 
mortified  at  being  dull,  and  stupid,  and  silent. 
This  made  me  very  unhappy,  more  so  than  my 
words  convey.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  nothing  which 
was  wanted  here.  Then  it  was  that,  in  my  soli- 
tary walks,  nature  whispered,  "  Peace  !  vex  not 
thyself  because  thou  art  not  as  others !  Be 
content  to  be  that  which  thou  art ;  manifest  thy- 
self according  to  the  laws  of  thy  individual  being. 
The  flower  at  thy  feet  hopes  not  to  be  a  star,  nor 
strives  to  be  aught  but  a  flower.  Be  calm,  and 
fear  not  but  thou  wilt  find  thy  place.  Believe 
that  thou  wast  not  for  nothing  sent  into  the 
world.  .  Obey  thy  nature,  and  fear  not  but  that 
thou  wilt  do  the  good  thou  wast  sent  to  do." 
Such  lessons  did  the  trees  and  rocks  and  waters, 
the  green  hills  and  that  calm,  majestic  mountain 
breathe  into  my  heart.  Nor  were  words  of  man 
wanting,  and  in  the  pages  of  Emerson  I  found 
strength  and  reassurance.  I  am  content  now  to 
be  silent  when  I  have  nothing  to  say.  Indeed,  I 
begin  to  think  silence  better  than  words.  What 
says  Goethe  in  this  book  before  me  1  "  We 
constantly  talk  a  great  deal  too  much.  I  for  my 
part  should  be  glad  to  break  myself  of  talking 
altogether,  and  speak,  like  creative  nature,  only 
in  pictures.     That  fig-tree,  that  little  snake,  the 


FAYAL  37 

chrysalis  that  lies  there  on  the  window  quietly 
awaiting  its  new  existence,  all  these  are  pregnant 
signatures ;  indeed,  he  who  could  decipher  them 
aright  might  well  dispense  with  the  written  or 
the  spoken  Amen  !  " 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  comfort  I  have 
had  from  one  source ;  how  happy  I  have  felt  in 
the  consciousness,  as  I  never  felt  it  before,  of 
the  near  presence  of  friends  absent  in  the  body. 
Often,  my  friend,  have  you  come  and  walked 
beside  me  in  my  evening  ramble,  or  opened  the 
door  of  this  chamber,  as  you  used  to  do  that  of 
my  room  in  Massachusetts  Hall,  and  this,  not 
as  a  thing  of  fancy  but  a  reality.  ''  Spaces  in 
Heaven,"  thus  speaks  Swedenborg,  "  are  nothing 
else  than  external  states  corresponding  to  the 
internal.  Hence,  in  the  spiritual  world,  one  per- 
son is  exhibited  as  present  to  another,  provided 
he  intensely  desires  his  presence,  for  thus  he 
puts  himself  in  his  state." 

TO  JOHN  T.  G.  NICHOLS. 

HoRTA,  Fayal,  February  26,  1844. 

Dear  John, — .  .  .  "Did  you  not  promise  to 
write  to  me  t "  I  dare  say  I  did,  dear  John, 
since  you  say  so  ;  but  (if  that  be  any  excuse  and 
not  rather  an  aggravation)  I  had  entirely  forgotten 
it.     My  only  wonder  is  that  that   dreadful    sea 


38  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

voyage  did  not  swallow  up  in  its  dull  blank  all 
remembrance  of  my  former  life.  I  had  not, 
however,  forgotten  j/^//,  and  when  I  read  in  your 
letter  of  all  you  are  doing  for  the  good  of  those 
about  you,  I  felt  as  if  I  were  leading  here  a  very 
useless  and  inactive  life  ;  and,  what  is  worse,  I 
felt  as  if  I  should  never  lead  a  very  useful  one  ; 
for  though  I  have  the  wish  to  do  good,  I  have 
not  the  activity  and  energy  of  mind  to  plan  and 
carry  out  benevolent  objects.  This  is  what  dis- 
courages me  in  view  of  a  clergyman's  life,  for 
as  Dr.  Johnson  said,  "  I  do  not  envy  a  clergy- 
man's life  because  it  is  an  easy  life,  nor  do  I 
envy  the  clergyman  who  makes  it  an  easy  life." 

I  have  been  interested  in  visiting  the  Catholic 
churches  and  witnessing  their  ceremonies.  There 
is  a  sentiment  of  the  poetic  and  a  sentiment  of 
the  past  hanging  about  them  which  appeals  to 
my  ideality  and  reverence.  Still,  it  is  very  sad 
to  see  how  dead  and  lifeless  a  shell  these  forms 
have  become.  The  lower  classes  are  sincere  and 
devotional,  but  those  who  have  such  a  degree  of 
intellectual  development  as  to  see  through  and 
despise  the  form,  without  having  spiritual  devel- 
opment enough  to  put  a  new  life  into  the  form, 
are  in  bad  condition.  And  this  is  the  case  with 
most  of  the  "  better  class  "  of  people  here  (partic- 
ularly the  men),  and  with  some  at  least  of  the 


FA  YAL  39 

priests.  If  I  could  make  a  reform  I  would  not 
begin  by  doing  away  with  the  Catholic  religion, 
—  for  the  mass  of  the  people,  at  least.  If  one 
could  reform  the  priests,  and  by  that  I  mean  as 
much  as  anything,  open  their  eyes,  now  blinded 
by  the  dust  which  falls  from  every  crevice  of 
their  ancient  pile,  and  show  them  the  mighty 
responsibility  which  rests  upon  them  as  the 
guardians  of  the  people,  and  moreover  show 
them  hozv  to  begin  a  moral  regeneration,  that 
would  be  the  best  way.  They  do  not  object  here 
to  the  reading  of  the  Scriptures  by  the  people, 
but  the  people,  the  poor,  do  not  know  how  to 
read.  They  are  improving,  however,  in  this 
respect.  Could  I  not  get  some  Portuguese  Tes- 
taments in  Boston  to  distribute }  Those  who  can 
read  thirst  for  the  word  of  God.  .  .  . 

TO  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 

HoRTA,  Fa  YAL,  February  17,  1S44. 

...  I  might  tell  you  of  the  delightful  October 
which  we  spent  at  Pico  ;  how  we  lived  at  "  The 
Priory,  "  —  which  was  a  real  priory,  or  had  been  ; 
how  we  slept  in  monks'  cells  and  dined  in  the 
refectory ;  how  we  jumped  rope  and  danced 
Scotch  reels  ;  how  I  read  Lamb  (your  Lamb)  and 
Bremer  to  the  ladies  and  edited  their  newspapers  ; 
how  we  bathed  in  the  surf  in  the  morning,  and 


40  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

took  long  Strolls  in  the  afternoon,  and  virtuously 
read  Portuguese  in  the  evening ;  how  in  short, 
we  enjoyed  ourselves  as  only  people  on  the  sea- 
shore can  enjoy  themselves.  How  often  I  used 
to  think,  This  and  this  will  I  write  to  Ned  Hale; 
but  the  events  which  then  filled  all  my  horizon, 
and  would  have  filled  all  my  letters,  are  now 
crowded  into  a  few  lines,  on  the  well-known  prin- 
ciple of  bridge-lamp  perspective.  .  .  . 

This  winter  is  only  a  cool  summer.  I  find 
myself  in  somewhat  improved  health ;  teach  the 
three  R's  and  such  higher  branches  as  are  needed 
to  docile  pupils ;  study  Portuguese  with  a  young 
padre  in  the  Franciscan  convent ;  attend  Catholic 
mummeries  with  poetic  faith  ;  read  the  literature 
of  the  day,  and  enjoy  my  rest  in  the  bosom  of 
the  best  family  in  the  world.  But  why  tell  you 
this  1  Did  you  not  yourself,  years  agone,  in 
black  silk  kersey  robes,  foretell  to  me  my 
present  life  in  choice  Ciceronian,  w^hereof  a  doc- 
ument ever  since  remains  in  my  portfolio,  and 
furnishes  me  the  very  words  t  "  Mehercle,  in  cam- 
panis  villis  morari,  in  /lorfis  splendidam  prolem 
alentem,  aut  otiose  in  ora  ambulantem  et  maris 
fluctus  spectantem,  tempus  terere  te  oportuit." 
Imagine  my  delight  in  taking  this  out  the  other 
day  !  .  .  . 


FAYAL  41 

HoRTA,  April  20,  1844. 

My  dear  Mother,  —  I  am  up  early  this  fresh, 
glowing  morning,  and,  after  watering  my  garden, 
have  come  back  to  my  chamber  to  send  you  word 
of  my  well-being,  across  the  ocean  on  the  wings 
of  the  morning.  You  are  all  asleep  in  the  old 
home,  for  we  have  three  hours  the  start  of  you. 
May  your  dreams  be  pleasant  ones ! 

I  am  writing  to  the  music  of  blackbirds  and 
chaffinches,  who  are  pouring  out  their  song  as 
if  their  souls  were  in  it,,  touched  by  this  sum- 
mer sun.  .  .  .  The  spring  has  come  on,  more 
beautiful  than  ever,  and  is  not  spring,  but  sum- 
mer, crowned  with  glowing  flowers,  not  pale 
snowdrops. 

I  wander  about  a  good  deal,  regretting  only 
that  I  have  no  companion,  for  the  boys  like  better 
a  ride  on  horseback.  Occasionally  I  take  my 
sketch  -  book,  which  is  getting  quite  full,  and 
which,  one  of  these  days,  I  shall  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  turning  over  with  you  and  talking  over 
with  you.  Sometimes  we  make  up  a  party  and 
take  a  long  excursion  into  the  country  in  the 
pleasantest  possible  way.  Only,  instead  of  the 
family  wagon  or  the  carryall,  as  in  our  excursions 
at  home,  we  have  donkeys,  and  serv-ants  to  carry 
on  their  shoulders  the  great  baskets  of  picnic 
good  things,  so  that  we  make  a  much  more  pic- 


42  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

turesque  appearance,  winding  up  and  down  the 
steep  roads,  than  the  line  of  vehicles  presents  in 
which  our  parties  convey  themselves  and  their 
eatables  to  Black  Point  or  Cape  Cottage. 

Since  I  wrote  you,  I  have  been  to  Castello 
Branco,  and  to  the  Caldeira  again  ;  and  last  week 
Miss  Green,  Sarah  Sawyer,  Olivia  Dabney,  and 
I  (the  sole  gentleman  who  could  be  mustered  for 
the  occasion),  set  off  one  glorious  morning,  and 
winding  through  my  Beautiful  Valley  found  our- 
selves at  last  in  a  deep  rocky  ravine,  the  object 
of  our  wanderings,  and  known  as  the  laurestinus 
glen.  A  beautiful  spot !  The  top  is  shut  in  by 
a  sheer  precipice  a  hundred  feet  and  more  in 
height,  over  which,  when  the  river  is  full,  pours 
the  Salto  Grande,  or  great  waterfall ;  but  the 
waterworks  here  are  like  those  at  Versailles, 
which  play  only  on  particular  occasions,  that  is, 
after  a  heavy  rain.  As  it  was,  the  water  trickled 
down  the  face  of  the  dark  rock  and  dropped  into  a 
basin  below  with  a  cool,  pleasant  murmur.  And 
here,  shaded  from  the  noon  sun,  we  resigned 
ourselves  to  the  romance  of  the  time,  and  ate 
our  oranges  and  bread.  The  sides  of  the  ravine 
were  covered  with  the  clustered  flowers  of  the 
wild  laurestinus,  and  at  our  feet,  in  green  nooks 
among  the  rocks,  bloomed  violets,  ''  sweeter  than 
the  lids  of  Cytherea's  eyes." 


FA  YAL  43 

We  get  newspapers  now  and  then  by  the 
whalers,  so  that  we  are  not  altogether  ignorant 
of  what  is  going  on  in  the  world  at  large  of 
America.  I  cannot  but  wish,  whenever  a  whaler 
comes  in  from  New  Bedford,  that  you  had  sent 
letters.  I  should  welcome  these  brown-faced, 
rough-handed  men,  who  sit  beside  me  at  dinner, 
most  heartily  if  they  brought  me  a  letter  now 
and  then  ;  but  when  I  ask  them  what  news  from 
America,  and  they  answer,  "  Nothing  particular," 
it  seems  to  stop  the  conversation  rather  abruptly. 

When  the  Styx  was  here  a  few  weeks  ago, 
engaged  in  a  survey  of  the  island,  we  saw  the 
officers  quite  often.  There  was  a  party  made  for 
them  at  bagatelle,  and  another  here.  .  .  .  After 
tea  in  the  saloon,  there  were  dancing  and  games, 
of  which  they  are  very  fond  here.  The  dancing 
always  winds  up  with  a  Portuguese  dance,  a  slow 
movement,  accompanied  by  much  snapping  of 
fingers,  castanet-wise,  and  very  graceful  when 
well  danced.  As  everybody  present  is  chal- 
lenged and  expected  to  join,  I  usually  make  my 
escape  about  this  time.  .  .   . 

I  long  to  hear  what  events  are  taking  place  ih 
the  family  circle.  Every  night  when  I  go  to  bed 
I  look  over  the  western  hills  and  think  of  you, 
and  I  have  been  happy  to  find  how  near  my 
friends  at  home  have  been  to  me  in  spirit  since 


44  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

I  have  been  here.  May  God  bless  and  guard  you 
all,  my  dear  mother  !  Remember  me  in  your 
prayers.       With  much  love,  yours,  Sam. 

HoRTA,  May  7,  1844. 

My  dear  Mother,  —  ...  I  am  indeed  thank- 
ful that  my  letters  have  brought  me  nothing  but 
good  news.  I  seldom  dream  of  ill,  yet  it  is  not 
without  some  trembling  of  the  heart  that  I  watch 
the  Harbinger  slowly  sweeping  round  the  head- 
land to  her  anchorage,  or  open  the  packet  of 
letters  which  she  brings.  What  a  bitter  winter 
you  have  had  in  New  England  !  I  am  not  sorry 
to  have  been  away  from  it.  I  like  cool  and 
bracing  weather ;  but  that  intense  cold,  which 
makes  one's  nose  blue  and  fingers  stiff,  and  seems 
to  send  all  the  blood  back  into  the  heart,  is  be- 
numbing and  contracting  alike  to  body  and  mind. 
I  like  an  atmosphere  where  I  can  expand  and 
grow,  as  Mr.  Emerson  says,  "  like  corn  and 
melons." 

I  wish  you  had  been  here  to  breakfast  with  us 
on  the  first  of  May.  We  had  none  of  the  real 
mayflowers,  nor  any  ramble  in  the  woods  before 
breakfast,  because  there  are  no  woods  to  ramble 
in,  but,  that  the  day  might  not  be  unhonored,  I 
went  out  early  into  the  embowered  gardens,  and 
gathered  for  each  plate  at  the  breakfast-table  a 


FA  YAL  45 

fragrant  and  dewy  nosegay  of  damask  roses, 
verbena,  heliotrope,  and  sweet  pea.  The  gardens 
are  full  of  trees  and  shrubs  and  shady  walks  and 
nooks  ;  but  what  strikes  you  most  is  the  lavish 
abundance  of  the  flowers,  and  their  luxuriant 
growth.  Walking  out  in  the  morning,  you  would 
think  it  had  rained  flowers  all  night.  It  was  some 
time  before  I  could  learn  to  pick  choice  flowers 
with  as  little  compunction  or  ceremony  as  if  they 
were  dandelions  or  buttercups,  sure  that  to-mor- 
row would  repair  the  loss  of  to-day. 

A  bold  style  of  gardening  is  practiced  here 
which  suits  me.  You  transplant  plants  in  full 
bloom,  and  they  never  mind  it,  but  make  them- 
selves at  home  immediately.  You  stick  down 
bunches  of  geraniums  anywhere,  and  they  take 
root  without  more  ado  and  bloom  in  a  month  or 
two.  And  what  do  you  think  of  cutting  oft'  the 
top  of  a  great  tree 'and  setting  out  the  slip  (some 
twelve  feet  high,  with  all  its  branches  on),  and 
having  it  grow } 

...  I  bathe  in  the  sea  almost  every  day,  and 
walk  in  the  afternoon  after  school  one  or  two 
hours.  One  gets  a  great  deal  of  exercise,  too, 
out  of  a  walk  here,  the  roads  are  so  roughly  paved 
and  so  steep.  I  make  great  friends  of  the  little 
boys  who  come  begging  for  "  cine  reisin,"  or  five 
mills  (a  modest  sum),  with  such  merry  voices  and 


46  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

such  beautiful  eyes  that  I  forget  how  ragged 
and  dirty  they  are,  and,  in  default  of  money,  show 
them  my  sketches  and  try  to  talk  Portuguese 
with  them.     With  love,  affectionately  yours, 

Saml.  Longfellow. 

In  the  autumn  of  1844  Samuel  Longfellow  has 
returned  from  pleasant  Fayal,  and  is  again  ear- 
nestly at  work  in  his  theological  course.  He 
seems  now  to  have  taken  up  his  abode  with  his 
brother  Henry,  who  had  married  during  his 
absence,  and  had  acquired  the  fine  old  mansion 
in  which  he  had  had  chambers  since  his  first 
coming  to  Cambridge  as  professor,  and  which 
was  destined  to  be  his  lifelong  home.  Through 
the  devoted  love  of  the  two  brothers,  it  was,  at 
intervals,  the  home,  for  long  periods,  of  Samuel 
Longfellow  also. 

TO    EDWARD    EVERETT    HALE    (AT    WASHINGTON). 
Craigie  House  [Cambridge],  December  26,  1S44. 

Dear  Edward,  —  Here  is  one  of  those  soft, 
mild,  misty  days  that  come,  now  and  then,  during 
our  winter,  to  tell  us  that  there  is  yet  in  the 
world  such  a  thing  as  spring,  and  fill  us  with 
pleasant,  nameless  spring  feelings  and  unpleas- 
ant, nameless  colds-in-the-head. 

Yes,  we  of  the  centre  are  "■  always  writing  dis- 


THE  DIVINTTY  SCHOOL  ^y 

sertations,"  and  the  quantity  of  German  books 
that  I  borrowed  that  week  from  Dr.  Francis  and 
the  college  library  —  and  read,  too,  so  far  as 
I  needed  —  would  quite  surpass  belief.  Really, 
though,  I  was  quite  glad  to  find  how  well  I  could 
push  my  way,  without  a  dictionary,  after  two  or 
three  years'  total  abstinence.  And  this  only 
confirms  my  belief  that  our  college  course  does 
really  amount  to  more  than  some  people  are 
fond  of  making  out,  and  that,  too,  the  old  lamp 
can  be  rubbed  up  with  ease  and  to  some  purpose. 
Now  I  am  reading  De  Wette  on  Religion,  with 
Frothingham  and  a  dictionary,  but  our  worthy 
professor's  father-in-law,  it  must  be  confessed,  is 
a  little  prosy,  though  very  good. 

My  fire  burning  low,  I  got  up  to  ''  put  some  : " 
and  then,  lying  down  on  the  too  inviting  sofa, 
finished  my  letter  after  a  fashion  to  which  I  am 
greatly  addicted,  but  which,  pleasant  as  it  is, 
hath  this  fatal  inherent  defect,  that  it  avails  no- 
wise to  the  filling  of  blank  pages  or  the  satisfy- 
ing the  demands  of  expectant  correspondents. 
Now  I  have  but  a  page  left  and  must  tell  what 
more  I  have  to  say  in  shorthand.  I  have  been 
living  a  very  quiet  life  here  in  Cambridge  since 
my  return  ;  seeing  but  few  people  out  of  Craigie 
House  saving  the  Divinity  Hallers.  At  the 
beginning   of   the  year   appeared  at  the  school 


48  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

one  Greene,  who  has  been  through  West  Point 
and  the  Florida  War  and  the  Baptist  Seminary 
at  Newton,  where  I  dare  say  you  knew  him.  A 
youth  of  keen  mind,  purely  metaphysical ;  before 
whom,  as  fableth  James  Richardson,  the  whole 
school  did  at  once  succumb  and  were  led  off  into 
the  wilderness  of  Calvin-,  or  quasi  -  Calvinism. 
To  whom  said  James  felt  called  upon  to  oppose 
his  whole  energies,  and  with  weapons  of  "the 
innate  holiness  of  man"  and  " no-such-thing-as- 
sin,"  fight  to  the  uttermost,  —  victory  remaining 
yet  doubtful.  All  these  things  I  look  upon  from 
without.  It  was  once  said  of  Frank  Parker  that 
he  had  been  seen  on  the  outskirts  of  one  or  two 
Boston  parties.  I  have  actually  been  not  on  the 
outskirts,  but  in  the  very  midst  and  centre  of 
several,  this  winter.  .  .  . 

The  vacation  is  coming  near.  I  shall  be  for 
the  most  part  in  winter  quarters  in  Portland.  I 
wish  they  would  let  me  preach.  I  feel  curious 
to  know  how  I  shall  make  out.  ...  I  have  not 
written  a  sermon  yet,  nor  can  I  understand  how 
a  man  can  write  a  proper  sermon  till  he  has 
learned  how  by  actual  preaching. 

The  most  important  incident  of  Samuel  Long- 
fellow's remaining  years  at  the  school  was  the 
somewhat  remarkable  one  of  his  undertaking,  in 


THE   DIVINITY  SCHOOL  49 

conjunction  with  Samuel  Johnson,  to  prepare  a 
new  book  of  hymns  for  the  use  of  Unitarian 
congregations.  The  existing  collections  were 
mostly  very  dreary.  Dr.  Greenwood's,  compiled 
about  fifteen  years  before,  was  a  great  improve- 
ment on  its  predecessors,  and  was  highly  popular 
in  Unitarian  societies,  being  in  use  in  half  or 
more  of  them.  But  while  it  contained  many 
noble  and  beautiful  hymns,  it  was  encumbered 
with  a  mass  of  sadly  prosaic  and  antiquated  ones. 
Its  doctrinal  quality  was,  of  course,  that  of  the 
conservative  Unitarianism  of  the  period.  Sev- 
eral others  were,  about  this  time,  coming  into 
competition  with  what  may  be  called  the  stand- 
ard collection.  The  motive  which  impelled  these 
young  men  to  prepare  yet  another  was  largely  a 
poetical  one,  but  it  was  still  more  the  desire  to 
provide  a  body  of  hymns  in  which  the  religious 
attitude  of  the  worshiper  should  be  that  of  a 
more  natural  and  immediate  relation  with  the 
Divine  Spirit,  and  in  which,  especially,  the  dig- 
nity of  humanity,  the  hopefulness  of  being,  the 
obligations  of  rectitude  and  brotherly  love,  should 
have  more  adequate  expression. 

Once  launched  upon  this  enterprise,  the  two 
friends  prosecuted  it  with  the  greatest  zeal  and 
thoroughness  and  with  a  business  energy  hardly 
to  be  looked  for  in  theological  neophytes.     They 


50  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

read,  criticised,  and  compared  literally  thousands 
of  hymns,  —  ransacking  the  collections  of  all 
denominations,  and  the  poetry  of  other  languages 
besides  our  own  ;  gleaning  even  in  the  newspa- 
pers, and  utilizing  portions  of  poems  by  skillful 
adaptation.  They  added  thus  to  our  resources 
many  new  and  beautiful  hymns  which  have  taken 
a  permanent  place  in  our  affections.  Whittier 
they  may  almost  be  said  to  have  introduced  to 
the  world  as  a  hymnist.  Newman's  "  Lead, 
Kindly  Light,"  they  found  in  a  newspaper, 
anonymous,  and  so  printed  it.  The  first  word 
and  the  second  line  were  incorrect  through  a 
misprint,  and  a  more  than  doubtful  change  was 
made  by  the  young  editors  in  the  third  stanza. 
It  is  probable  that  Mrs.  Adams's  "Nearer,  my 
God,  to  Thee,"  here  first  appeared,  at  least  in 
an  American  collection.  Beautiful  hymns  from 
Sears,  Furness,  Clarke,  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe, 
Emerson,  Henry  W.  Longfellow,  Trench,  Very, 
Lowell,  and  others,  still  fresh  if  not  wholly  new, 
enriched  the  volume.  They  diligently  gathered 
material,  also,  from  private  sources,  and  did  not 
fail  in  the  courage  it  then  required  to  invite  con- 
tributions from  Theodore  Parker,  printing  his 
noble  '*  O  thou  great  Friend  to  all  the  sons  of 
men,"  with  one  or  two  others  from  his  pen.  A 
number  of  the  hymns  were  original,  written  by 


THE  DIVINITY  SCHOOL  5 1 

the  compilers  themselves  or  by  their  friends, 
partly  with  a  view  to  the  particular  aims  of  the 
new  collection.  Most,  if  not  all  of  these,  they 
published  as  anonymous,  and  not  all  have  ever 
been  credited  to  their  authors  ;  but  among  them 
were  some  of  the  finest,  which  have  remained 
among  the  treasures  of  our  hymnology. 

The  "  Book  of  Hymns  "  unquestionably  marked 
a  great  advance  upon  its  predecessors  in  poetical 
and  spiritual  quality,  and  it  was  in  these  respects 
that  it  was  especially  distinguished  from  them. 
While  the  tendencies  of  thought  in  the  young 
men  who  prepared  it,  especially  in  Johnson,  were 
radical  and  progressive,  how  moderate  were  their 
conscious  departures  from  the  Unitarianism  of 
their  day  appears  by  the  structure  of  this  hymn- 
book  and  its  particular  contents.  The  hymns 
were  classified  under  the  headings  "Jesus 
Christ,"  ''The  Christian  Life,"  ''The  Christian 
Character,"  "The  Communion,"  and  the  like. 
The  supernatural  character  of  Jesus  is  fully  ex- 
pressed by  the  titles  "Saviour,"  "Redeemer," 
"King,"  and  "Son  of  God,"  occurring  through- 
out. Forty -four  hymns  refer  to  him  particularly ; 
to  Christianity  and  topics  claimed  as  Christian, 
over  two  hundred  more.  "I  am  not  sure,"  says 
Mr.  Longfellow,  "  but  this  part  was  rather  less 
the  work  of  Johnson  than  of  his  collaborator,  of 


52  SAMUEL   LOXG FELLOW 

whom  he  was  generally  a  little  in  advance  in  his 
theology."  But  something  was,  after  all,  deficient, 
which  the  sensibilities  of  that  distinctly  ''transi- 
tion "  period  detected,  and  which  was  prophetic, 
doubtless,  of  the  wider  departures  from  Unita- 
rian orthodoxy  to  which  the  minds  of  the  young 
editors  were  tending.  Many  familiar  hymns  had 
been  sacrificed  to  a  new  religious  spirit  which 
was  making  its  appearance  at  this  era.  "  Theodore 
Parker  liked  the  book,"  says  Mr.  Longfellow  in 
his  memoir  of  his  co-editor,  because  *'  it  recog- 
nized more  than  was  usual  in  the  Unitarian  hymn- 
books  the  idea  that  there  is  a  Holy  Spirit  and 
that  God  is  really  present  with  and  /;/  the  soul  of 
man,  a  doctrine  which  Unitarianism  then  looked 
upon  as  somewhat  fanatical." 

On  the  whole,  while  the  collection  met  with 
some  severe  criticism,  and  in  few  places  super- 
seded the  well-established  "Greenwood's,"  it 
received  a  gratifying  welcome.  An  edition  of 
five  hundred  copies  was  taken  up  in  three  or 
four  months,  the  first  society  to  adopt  it  being 
that  of  the  Church  of  the  Unity,  just  organized 
in  Worcester,  over  which  Longfellow's  faithful 
friend  Hale  had  just  been  installed.  Theodore 
Parker's  Music  Hall  congregation  soon  adopted 
it,  and  others  followed.  Within  two  years  a 
second  edition  was  called  for,  giving  the  editors 


THE  DIVINITY  SCHOOL  53 

a  chance  for  revisions.  Their  correspondence 
during  these  years  is  full  of  their  undertak- 
ing; its  principles  ;  the  business  of  it  ;  the 
criticisms  on  the  book ;  the  changes  and  correc- 
tions needed. 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

[No  date.] 

*'  Now  as  to  M.  [a  critic].  Our  book  is  not 
thought  insignificant,  Sam.  We  get  more  talked 
about  than  any  of  the  others.  But  M.'s  objection 
is  the  funniest  of  all.  The  omission  of  certain 
classes  of  hymns  might  '  unfit '  a  book  for  church 
use  ;  but  how  the  omission  of  particular  hymns 
can  do  so  passes  my  understanding.  Think  of 
his  taking  the  trouble  to  hunt  up  all  those  first 
lines !  I  thought,  at  first,  it  was  a  long  poem. 
But  it  is  the  best  thing  he  could  have  done  for 
us,  Sam,  if  people  will  look  at  those  hymns  and 
think  zvhy  we  left  them  out.  Our  book  needs 
to  be  compared  with  others  to  make  its  higher 
tone  distinctly  visible.  ...  If  they  will  but 
notice,  in  praise  or  blame,  its  humanity  !  " 

But  the  editors  excited  especial  criticism  by 
their  own  alterations  and  amendments,  although 
these  were  much  less  conspicuous  in  the  "  Book 
of  Hymns  "  than  they  became  in  the  '*  Hymns 


54  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

of  the  Spirit"  of  1864.  They  defended  these 
alterations  on  the  practical  ground  taken,  proba- 
bly, by  all  compilers  of  church  collections.  Not 
long  before  his  death  Mr.  Longfellow  wrote  to 
his  successor  in  his  Brooklyn  pulpit,  "  It  is  the 
jDrinciple  of  adaptation  to  a  special  use  which  is 
the  only  justification  of  changes  in  hymns  that  I 
can  offer.  It  is  a  question  of  using  or  not  using 
which  makes  it  needful  to  change  (i)  some  verses 
originally  written  not  as  hymns,  yet  which  one 
wants  to  use  as  such ;  (2)  some  hymns  written  by 
persons  of  different  beliefs  from  those  who  are 
to  use  the  hymn-book,  phrases  in  which  could 
not  be  conscientiously  said  or  sung  by  the  latter, 
yet  which  from  their  general  value  of  strength, 
fervor,  or  tenderness  could  ill  be  spared.  ...  If 
I  had  been  making  a  collection  of  hymns  or  reli- 
gious poetry  for  private  reading,  I  should  not 
have  altered  a  single  word." 

It  must  be  admitted  that  the  liberty  taken 
with  individual  hymns,  especially  in  the  "  Hymns 
of  the  Spirit,"  was  large.  Colonel  Thomas 
Wentworth  Higginson,  who  was  one  of  the  ori- 
ginal contributors  to  the  *'  Book  of  Hymns," 
writes  :  "  My  sister,  an  intimate  friend  of  Mr. 
Longfellow,  satirized  this  propensity  in  one  of 
the  nonsense  stanzas  then  so  prevalent.  It  must 
be  premised  that  as  both  the  editors  were  named 


THE  DIVINITY  SCHOOL  55 

Samuel,  their  book  was    often    characterized   as 

the  *  Sam-Book.' 1 

" '  There  once  were  two  Sams  of  Amerique 
Who  belonged  to  a  profession  called  clerique. 
They  hunted  up  hymns  and  cut  off  their  limbs, 
These  truculent  Sams  of  Amerique.' 

''Longfellow entered  heartily  into  this  jest,  and 
illustrated  the  verses  with  a  pen  and  ink  sketch, 
representing  two  young  men  with  large  shears, 
cutting  up  rolls  of  paper.  The  Ukeness  of  John- 
son, who  was  very  handsome,  with  the  air  of  a 
high -caste  Parsee  or  Assyrian,  was  unmistak- 
able." 2 

1  Or  Book  of  Sams.  Theodore  Parker  appears  to  have  called 
it  so  first. 

2  The  same  lady,  in  a  poem  characterizing,  also,  two  of  his 
intimate  associates,  wrote   these   stanzas   upon    Longfellow,  in 

1847:- 

"  Thou,  the  gentlest  and  most  youthful. 

With  thy  childlike  poet-heart. 

And  thy  temper,  trusting,  truthful. 

Ignorant  of  selfish  art ; 

"  Life's  glad  echoes,  thrilling  through  thee, 
Woke  the  spirit  to  its  tone 
As  from  harpstrings  singing  true,  the 
Summer  breezes  wake  their  own. 

"  And  as  such  harp,  in  the  woodland 
Hung  to  answer  nature  there. 
E'en  beneath  the  storm  wind's  rude  hand 
Swept  with  force,  yields  yet  a  prayer ; 


56  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

While  the  hymn-book  engaged  so  earnestly 
the  minds  of  the  two  friends,  especially  Longfel- 
low's, who  seems  to  have  done  the  larger  part  of 
the  work,  the  regular  duties  of  the  school  were 
proceeding,  and  their  hearts  were  fully  engaged 
in  them.  The  growth  and  maturing  of  Longfel- 
low's character  reflect  themselves  clearly  in  the 
remains  of  his  correspondence.  His  interest  in 
social  reforms  deepens  visibly.  His  radicalism 
of  thought  becomes  more  and  more  distinct, 
although  he  parts  slowly  with  the  forms  of  opin- 
ion and  modes  of  expression  in  which  he  had 
grown  up.  The  question  of  moral  and  intellec- 
tual fitness  for  the  ministry  agitates  his  mind, 
alongside  the  anticipations  of  its  various  forms  of 
duty  and  visions  of  places  of  settlement,  w^hich 
are  common  to  students  in  the  last  year  of  their 
theological  course.  There  appears  always  that 
mixture  of  extreme  modesty  as  to  his  powers  and 
attainments,  with  the  firmest  quiet  self-confidence 
where  a  distinct  moral  or  intellectual  issue  pre- 

"  So  thy  spirit,  answering  duly 

To  each  wandering  zephyr's  tone, 
In  its  deeper  chord,  as  truly 

Vibrates  back  to  Heaven  alone." 

"  This  image  of  the  zEolian  harp,"  says  Colonel  Higginson, 
"an  instrument  much  more  familiar  fifty  years  ago  than  now, 
is  perhaps  the  best  description  of  the  temperament  of  Samuel 
Longfellow." 


THE   DIVIXITY  SCHOOL  57 

sents  itself,  which  was  characteristic  of  the  man 
throughout  Hfe.  Among  the  particular  personal 
influences  to  which  he  was  yielding,  at  this  time, 
was  evidently  that  of  Theodore  Parker,  whose 
boldness  of  thought,  the  naturalness  of  his  reli- 
gious attitude,  and  his  simple,  earnest  piety, 
attracted  Longfellow ;  while  something  in  his 
temper,  his  disposition  to  satire,  and  his  occa- 
sional truculence  repelled  the  younger  man.  As 
the  champion  of  freedom  in  religious  opinion, 
and  the  martyr  of  the  moment  to  that  principle, 
Longfellow  was  now  wholly  in  sympathy  with 
him,  as  he  was  beginning  to  be  with  Parker's 
more  peculiar  views.  ''Yes,"  he  says,  in  writing 
to  Hale  during  the  winter  of  his  middle  year  in 
the  school,  "  I  have  actually  got  through  my  letter 
without  mentioning  Theodore.  You  have  heard 
from  Boston,  I  suppose,  how  they  are  stewing 
about  him,  with  Clarke-exchanges  and  Sargent- 
resignations  and  Church-of-Disciples-secessions 
and  Christian  World  and  Register  scoldings.  Let 
every  man  be  fully  persuaded  in  his  own  mind, 
but  I  am  afraid  the  Unitarians  are  going  to  be 
false  to  their  great  principle  and  the  ground  they 
have  taken  and  been  preaching  ever  since  the 
Unitarian  controversy." 


58  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Cambridge,  December  19,  1845. 

Dear  Sam,  —  ...  I  wonder  if  you  have  been 
enjoying  these  spring  days  as  I  have  }  It  is  an 
intense  deHght  to  me,  an  intoxication  just  as  in 
the  real  spring.  ...  I  have  just  had  a  visit  from 

^  but  it  did  not  do  me  much  good.     He  seems 

to  be  hving  in  a  great  excitement ;  as  he  says, 
"  preaching  Pantheism,  Parkerism,  and  all  sorts 
of  heresies,"  —  but  I  should  rather  see  a  self- 
devoted,  quiet  earnestness.  Yet  why  demand  of 
all  the  same  fruits  .'*  He  is  evidently  arousing 
his  people,  and  putting  into  them  new  life,  which 
a  calmer  man  might  fail  to  do.  It  is  not  the 
highest  state,  but  may  open  a  way  for  it.  I  will 
not  quarrel  with  a  living  spirit,  but  pray  that  it 
may  gain  depth.  .  .  .  To-night  there  is  a  discus- 
sion at  the  Hall,  adjourned  from  one  on  Wednes- 
day, when  your  Infidelity  resolutions  were  dis- 
cussed. They  take  up  also  the  question  of  "  min- 
isterial fellowship  "  with  those  who  teach  only 
"  Love  to  God  and  Man."  But  I  will  not  tell  you 
any  more  of  these  things  till  you  come.  Don't 
fail,  unless  you  are  happier  at  home.  I  have 
some  new  poems  to  read  you,  not  very  great  but 
pleasing,  by  Chenevix  Trench.  ...  I  am  phy- 
sically ill.  at  ease  to-night,  and  cannot  write  you 


THE   DIVINITY  SCHOOL  59 

to  any  purpose  but  to  say  that  I  am  thinking  of 
you. 

TO    EDWARD    EVERETT    HALE. 

Cambridge,  April  15,  1846. 
Dear  Edward,  —  Your  note  came  yesterday, 
with  the  hymn,  which  I  am  very  glad  you  sent 
me  ;  for  I  recognize  it  as  an  old  favorite  which  I 
used  to  hear  sung  at  home  years  ago,  but  which 
had  quite  slipped  out  of  my  memory.  Thank 
you  for  interesting  yourself  in  our  book.  Your 
various  notes  would  not  have  remained  unac- 
knowledged, but  that,  the  whole  of  the  last  week 
after  you  left  me,  I  was  utterly  busy  in  reading 
up  for  and  writing  a  dissertation  for  Dr.  Noyes 
on  the  different  explanation-theories  of  the  Temp- 
tation. I  dare  not  tell  you  of  the  Studien  and 
Kritikens,  and  Eichhorn's  Bibliothek  and  Leben- 
Jesu's,  that  I  dived  into  ;  suffice  it  to  say  the 
dissertation  was  written  and  read,  and  I  am  free 
for  a  time  from  such  like.  .  .  .  About  your  Ordi- 
nation Hymn.  In  part  for  the  reason  above 
mentioned,  I  have  not  written  a  word  of  it.  But 
I  will  proceed  immediately  to  put  my  brain  in 
motion  that  way.  I  did  fashion  a  verse  or  two 
of  it,  rudely,  as  I  walked  over  the  bridge  one 
day  ;  but  have  quite  lost  them.  Perhaps  I  shall 
pick  it  up  as  I  walk  into  town  to-day.     You  shall 


6o  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

have  it  as  soon  as  I  can  write  it,  for  better,  for 
worse.  But  if  your  choir  are  in  haste,  don't 
make  them  wait  for  my  uncertain  muse. 

Most  of  all,  in  writing  this,  I  want  to  thank 
you  for  your  warm-hearted  note  about  my  ser- 
mon. I  am  heartily  glad  that  you  liked  it,  and 
that  you  wrote  me  all  that  you  did  and  just  as 
you  did.  It  was  and  will  be  to  me  a  great  en- 
couragement, to  know  that  anything  I  have  writ- 
ten has  met  so  ready  and  real  sympathy  from 
you  ;  that  sermon  in  particular,  which  I  did 
write  from  a  depth  of  feeling  that  gave  me  a 
confidence  of  its  essential  truth.  I  am  very  glad 
that  you  felt  it,  too.  For  myself,  ever  since  I 
wrote  that,  I  have  felt  more  and  more  strongly 
that  we  need  a  more  living  faith  in  Jesus  as  a 
personal  reality  to  us,  not  an  abstraction  ;  not  a 
religion  or  system  of  truths  ;  not  a  passive  organ 
of  the  Infinite  Spirit,  but  a  living,  human  friend  ; 
one  who  grew  in  grace  ;  was  made  perfect  through 
suffering ;  whose  life  is  to  be  interpreted  by  our 
own  deepest,  holiest  experience.  Such  a  view, 
I  am  convinced,  will  make  him  to  our  souls  at 
once  more  perfectly  human,  more  truly  divine ; 
more  perfectly  natural,  more  profoundly  super- 
natural ;  and,  so  far  from  diminishing,  will  but 
deepen  and  quicken  our  reverence,  as  well  as 
our  love,  for  him. 


THE   D/VnV/TY  SCHOOL  6 1 

At  length  the  momentous  experience  of  a  first 
public  appearance  in  the  pulpit. 

TO    SAMUEL    JOHNSON. 

Cambridge,  January  — ,  1846. 

Dear  Sam,  —  Your  beautiful  letter  came  not 
till  Wednesday  morning.  Sam,  it  did  me  great 
good.  I  hope  one  day  to  reach  such  earnestness 
of  resolve  and  purpose,  myself.  It  was  pre- 
cisely what  I  hoped  this  first  preaching  would 
do  for  me,  but  you  must  have  seen  that  it  did 
not  —  has  not  yet  done  so.  I  need,  how  much, 
to  be  roused  to  an  earnest,  practical  love  of  man. 
I  believe  it  is  in  me,  Sam,  if  it  can  be  kindled ; 
this  must  be  my  prayer ;  this  must  be  your 
prayer  for  me.  I  feel  that  it  will  come ;  voice 
after  voice  calls  in  me.  Lord  Jesus,  come  quickly  ! 

TO    SAMUEL    JOHNSON. 

Cambridge,  Monday,  January  19,  1S46. 

Dear  Sam,  —  I  have  preached,  and  like  it  very 
well  !  But  the  strangest  thing  must  come  first ; 
strangest  because  it  was  least  of  all  expected  or 
premeditated  ;  yet  came  about  in  the  most  natural 
manner.  I  am  to  preach  next  Sunday  for  Theo- 
dore Parker,  at  West  Roxbury,  which  society, 
it  seems,  he  still  supplies  (preaching  there  him- 
self in  the  afternoon)  till  February.     So  you  see 


62  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

that  I  have  quite  got  the  start  of  you  in  that 
matter.  .  .  . 

But  first  about  Dedham.  You  know  the 
melancholy  storm  on  Saturday.  I  went  to  D.  in 
the  evening  train,  and,  getting  out  of  the  cars, 
soon  encountered  a  little  man  whom  I  knew  at 
once  must  be  Dr.  Lamson.  I  introduced  myself, 
and  we  trudged  up  through  the  snow  to  his  warm 
house,  where  I  was  in  five  minutes  entirely  at 
home,  so  informal  and  kind  were  they.  .  .  .  We 
sat  up  till  eleven  o'clock,  talking.  But,  oh  !  Sam, 
all  night  I  dreamed  haunting  dreams  about  my 
first  preaching.  I  cannot  remember  them  now, 
but  one  was  that  when  I  got  into  the  pulpit  I 
found  that  my  sermon  was  entitled  Lalla  Rookh, 
and  I  was  afraid  to  preach  it.  The  last  phase  of 
the  dream  was  that  I  awoke  and  went  down,  and 
found  that  it  was  six  o'clock  of  Sunday  evening ; 
that  I  had,  in  fact,  slept  all  day,  and  that  the 
doctor  had  preached  in  my  place ! 

After  breakfast  I  selected  my  chapter  and 
hymns.  The  doctor's  collection  proved  to  be 
the  old  "  New  York  Collection,"  unlike  any  I 
ever  saw,  and  I  could  not  find  one  of  the  hymns 
I  wanted,  except  "  While  Thee  I  seek,"  for  the 
opening  in  the  afternoon.  The  sexton  came  for 
the  hymns,  the  bell  rang  the  knell  (of  parting 
Sam),  and   we  went   through   the   snow   to  the 


THE  DIVINITY  SCHOOL  63 

church.  To  my  great  joy  it  had  cleared  oft' and 
was  a  glad,  bright  sunshine.  At  the  head  of  the 
broad  aisle  (which  is  a  short  one),  the  doctor 
bowed  to  me  to  go  up  on  one  side,  while  he 
ascended  on  the  other.  We  went  up  the  pulpit 
stairs  like  Moses  and  Aaron,  "  in  the  sight  of  the 
congregation,"  which  consisted,  as  it  seemed  to 
me,  of  about  ten  people.  I  suppose  the  real 
number  was  fifty  or  so.  I  would  have  waited  for 
more  to  come,  but  presently  the  doctor,  who 
knew  better,  motioned  to  me  to  begin,  and  1 
arose  and  made  the  opening  prayer.  It  seemed 
just  like  the  School.  Then  I  stepped  down  and 
would  have  taken  the  hymn-book,  but  the  doctor 
told  me  the  Scripture  must  be  read  next.  (N.  B. 
I  had  been  studying  the  order  of  the  services  all 
the  morning !)  So  I  opened  the  Bible,  and  made 
no  blunder,  except  reading  the  wrong  chapter, 
mistaking  xviii.  for  xvii.  The  long  prayer  I  made 
myself,  and  made  it  short,  I  suspect.  Then,  the 
sermon.  I  was  not  in  the  least  embarrassed  or 
nervous,  but  felt  rather  stiff  and  not  altogether 
at  ease  ;  moreover  without  a  spark  of  enthusiasm. 
I  was  glad  to  find  that  I  could  see  the  people, 
and  I  discovered  one  young  man  listening  in- 
tently. .  .  .  But  in  the  afternoon  I  looked  and 
he  came  not.  Sam,  the  sermon  of  "  SuflTering," 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  moved  rather  heavily.     In  the 


64  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

afternoon  I  gave  them  the  sermon  of  *'  Reforms." 
I  felt  now  entirely  at  my  ease ;  the  discourse  is 
more  animated  and  I  was  myself  quite  lively.  At 
its  close  the  doctor  said  quite  heartily  :  ''  I  like 
your  sermon  very  much.  I  should  not  wish  to 
alter  a  word  of  it."  So  ended  my  first  preach- 
ing ;  and  on  the  whole  I  liked  it  very  well,  as  I 
said.  Still,  I  felt  no  seriousness  or  solemnity 
about  the  matter,  that  I  must  tell  you.  In  the 
prayers,  indeed,  I  did  at  times  lose  myself  and 
felt  something  of  earnestness.  I  found  not  the 
least  difficulty  or  fatigue  in  speaking.  It  must 
be  a  remarkably  easy  church  to  speak  in,  and  I 
am  glad  you  are  going  to  begin  there.  In  the 
evening  we  went  to  hear  Theodore  give  a  dis- 
course on  slavery.  It  was  vigorous  and  direct, 
and  roused  me  a  good  deal.  It  had  reference  to 
the  duties  of  the  North  upon  that  matter  and  its 
interest  in  it.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  irony, 
some  sarcasm,  and  a  hit  at  the  Boston  Associa- 
tion of  Ministers.  Sam,  I  cannot  quite  like  that 
man.  I  feel  that  we  are  not  of  spiritual  kin. 
After  the  lecture.  Dr.  L.  introduced  me  to  Theo- 
dore, who  inquired  if  I  were  engaged  the  next 
Sunday.  I  said  I  had  not  intended  to  preach 
that  day.  Then  he  asked  me  to  preach  at  West 
Roxbury,  and  I  told  him  I  would,  if  he  wished. 
So  we  shall  be  near  each  other,  Sam,  and  in  the 


THE  DIVINITY  SCHOOL  ^        65 

afternoon  I  shall  walk  over  to  Dcdham  and  spend 
the  night  with  you  at  Dr.  Lamson's.  At  parting 
the  doctor  gave  me  one  dollar.  Theodore  says 
he  pays  ten  dollars  ! 

The  genuineness  of  Longfellow's  sentiments 
is  intimated  in  his  disappointment  at  the  effect 
on  himself  of  his  early  essays  in  preaching,  the 
importance  of  which,  as  spiritual  experiences,  a 
sincere  beginner  naturally  magnifies  in  his  youth- 
ful anticipations,  not  realizing  that  these  first 
occasions  must  needs  be  matters  of  form,  largely. 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Portland,  February  17,  1846. 

Dear  Sam,  —  Coming  home  to-night  I  found 
your  letter ;  most  welcome,  the  only  word  I  have 
had  from  your  region  of  the  world  since  I  left 
Massachusetts,  which,  indeed,  is  only  nine  days, 
though  seeming  many  more.  ...  I  never  know 
what  any  experience  does  for  me,  except  when  I 
find  that  I  can  do  something  which  once  I  could 
not ;  then  I  know  that  I  have  grown  stronger. 
I  did  expect,  as  I  told  you,  that  this  preaching 
would  be  an  era  to  me,  but  it  has  not  proved  so 
exactly,  and  so  I  am  content  to  ''expand  and 
grow  like  corn  and  melons."  The  want  that  I 
feel  is  still  devotional  feeling,  depth  and  warmth 


66  SAMUEL   LOXGFELLOW 

and  earnestness  of  religious  feeling.  I  have 
written  nothing  since  I  have  been  here  ;  have 
preached  once  at  S.  .  .  .  You  know  what  a 
stormy  Sunday  it  was  ;  I  had  to  walk  half  a  mile 
to  church,  .  .  .  and  had  fifty  people  to  hear  me 
—  my  usual  audience  !  A  few  more,  I  thought, 
in  the  afternoon  ;  but  the  music,  Sam  !  It  is 
truly  a  most  essential  thing  to  the  clergyman. 
I  had  to  cut  down  all  the  hymns  as  much  as 
possible,  and,  from  the  first  one,  "  Father,  Thy 
paternal  care,"  they  themselves  gave  me  the  hint 
by  dropping  off  the  last  verse,  of  their  own 
accord.  I  was  only  too  glad  they  did.  Such 
melancholy  and  unheard-of  tunes  !  .  .  .  I  added 
two  pages  to  my  "  Spiritual  Aid  "  sermon,  and 
preached  it  in  the  morning,  by  way  of  variation. 
In  the  afternoon,  I  gave  them  the  sermon  of 
''  Suffering,"  and  Sam,  /  liked  it  very  much, 
whatever  they  did.  You  cannot  say  that  I 
depreciate  myself  ;  I  do  not,  unless  I  compare 
myself  to  somebody  else,  and  then  I  cannot  but 
do  so.  It  was  revealed  thus  to  me  that  I  could 
preach  better,  more  fervently,  in  the  afternoon 
than  forenoon. 

I  had  one  new  experience  at  S.  ;  being  asked 
to  '*  say  grace  "  at  table  and  to  lead  the  family 
prayers,  which  last  I  like  to  do.  By  the  way,  I 
thought  it  strange  that  neither  at  Dr.  Lamson's 


THE  DIVINITY  SCHOOL  6/ 

nor  Theodore's  did  they  appear  to  have  family 
prayers.  .  .  . 

Sam,  when  I  said  that  I  liked  my  sermon,  I 
meant  that  I  felt  there  were  truths  in  it,  and  so 
expressed  that  they  must  reach,  and  perhaps 
help,  some  hearts.  If  it  could  but  draw  any 
nearer  to  Jesus  !  .  .  .  I  have  begun  the  Life 
of  Henry  Ware  ;  it  is  very  simply  presented, 
and  I  know  I  shall  yet  get  good  from  it.  I  find 
already  something  of  my  own  experience  and  my 
own  traits  of  character  in  it,  and  this  encourages 
me  to  think  that  I  may  become  a  serious,  ear- 
nest, fervent,  helpful  preacher.  You  may  depend 
upon  it,  for  some  minds  at  least,  the  thing  needed 
is  to  be  brought  into  actual  contact  with  men 
and  women  and  children.  Your  ozvn  men  and 
women  ;  j^;/r  ozu?t  vineyard.  Some  people  seem 
to  have  an  intense  desire  to  meet  certain  wants 
of  the  community,  the  age ;  my  sphere  I  feel 
will  be  to  meet  the  wants  of  individuals. 

TO    SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

Portland,  August  20,  1S46. 

Dear  Sam,  —  Last  night  came  your  little  note 
instead  of  yourself.  I  have  been  looking  daily 
for  a  word  from  you,  saying  when  you  would  be 
here.  I  am  very  sorry  it  is  not  to  be  at  all  this 
vacation  ;  but  there  will  be  time  yet,  and  Cape 


6S  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

Cottage  will  wait  for  us,  you  know,  and  the  sea, 
ebbing  and  flowing  every  day  till  we  come  again. 
I  went  over  to  the  cape  last  Wednesday,  and 
spent  three  happy  days.  Glorious  sky,  sea,  sun- 
shine !  There  I  found  my  classmate  and  old 
friend  J.,  who  is  gentle  and  poetic  and  musical, 
and  that  was  very  pleasant  for  me.  Some  of  the 
Thaxters,  too,  from  Watertown,  but  not  Levi, 
nor  John  Weiss,  who  are  both  secluded  on  a 
little  lighthouse  rock  among  the  Isles  of  Shoals, 
off  Portsmouth.  There  they  found  an  eremite, 
a  Mr.  Laighton,  formerly  a  politician,  but  now 
retired  from  the  strife  of  that  unholy  life,  with 
his  books,  into  the  quiet  of  the  lighthouse,  the 
only  habitation  on  the  island.  Went  worth  [Hig- 
ginson]  arrived  the  same  afternoon  at  the  cot- 
tage, where  his  mother  and  sister  already  were, 
and  altogether  we  enjoyed,  in  the  quietest  way, 
the  luxury  of  breathing  the  breath  of  life,  and 
doing  nothing  for  the  good  of  the  human  race, 
—  a  beautiful  '*  Typee  "  life.  We  bathed  ;  we 
sat  on  the  rocks,  holding  books  in  our  hands,  but 
not  reading  ;  we  watched  the  surf  ;  we  counted 
the  white-sailed  boats  and  ships  that  all  the  time 
went  to  and  from  the  town,  which  was  just  out 
of  sight  behind  a  turn  in  the  coast.  We  sat 
under  trees,  singing,  or  weaving  chaplets  of  bay- 
berry  leaves  ;  we  repeated  snatches  of  sea-ballads 


THE   DIV/N/TV  SCHOOL  69 

—  all  the  various  employments  of  '*  him  whom 
the  world  calls  idle."  Upon  the  top  of  a  beautiful 
cliff  crowned  with  pines  and  birches,  I  planned 
a  little  book  for  people  to  take  with  them  to  such 
places,  which  should  contain  all  the  charming 
bits  of  poetry  in  the  language  about  the  sea  and 
the  seashore.  You  must  help  us  from  your 
stores.^ 

A  little  hymn-book  has  lately  been  published 
here  in  Portland,  which  is  vastly  more  "  profane  " 
than  ours,  for  it  contains  bodily  '*  Oft  in  the 
stilly  night,"  and  "  Isle  of  beauty,  fare  thee  well." 
.  .  .  On  Sunday  Dr.  Nichols  begged  me  to 
preach  in  the  afternoon.  I  chose  my  sermon  on 
"  Coming  to  Christ,"  the  divine  in  us  recogniz- 
ing the  divine  in  him.  I  know  not  how  its  "  tran- 
scendentalism "  was  liked.  Have  you  ever  seen 
Dr.  Channing's  sermon  on  the  "  Imitableness  of 
Christ's  Character  "  ?  He  says,  **  Christ  never 
held  himself  up  as  inimitable,  unapproachable, 
but  directly  the  reverse,"  "nor  is  there  anything 

1  This  was  the  origin  of  Thalatta,  in  writing  which  he  was 
assisted  by  his  friend  Higginson,  who  says  :  "  In  literature,  he 
had  his  brother's  delicate  taste,  with  an  even  finer  spiritual  per- 
ception. His  preparation  of  Thalatta  was  a  work  of  art ;  the 
arrangement  of  the  poems  was  by  their  themes,  and  had  an 
order  of  its  own.  The  book  was  the  child  of  his  youth,  and  he 
never  ceased  to  love  it.  All  his  life  he  was  collecting  materials 
for  a  second  edition,  which  never  came." 


70  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

in  him  of  which  we  have  not  the  promise,  the 
principle,  the  capacity  in  ourselves."  *'  He  is 
truly  our  brother."  I  found  it  here,  and  liked  it 
much. 


THE    CANDIDATING    PERIOD  :    WEST    CAMBRIDGE 

With  the  summer  of  1846  student  life  is  ended, 
and  the  agitating  and  often  weary  period  of 
"  candidating "  begins.  Mr.  Longfellow  had 
already  appeared  in  several  pulpits,  and  it  was 
still  early  winter  when,  after  preaching  there 
several  Sundays,  he  received  a  call  to  West 
Cambridge.  He  declined,  however,  to  be  per- 
manently settled,  but  accepted  a  temporary 
engagement. 

The  following  letter  is  headed  by  a  clever  pen 
and  ink  sketch  of  the  village  and  church  of  West 
Cambridge. 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

West  Cambridge,  November  9,  1846. 
Dear  Sam,  —  Do  you  want  to  see  my  church 
at  West  Cambridge }  Here  is  a  distant  view, 
which  I  sketched  on  my  walk  up  yesterday,  on 
the  back  of  my  sermon  on  spiritual  realities.  A 
glimpse  between  two  great  elm  trees,  a  cloudy 
morning,   with  gleams  of   sunshine  lighting   up 


72  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

the  white  houses  against  the  dark  blue  hills.  I 
preached  my  old  sermon  of  the  reformer's  aims. 
And  now,  Sam,  farewell  to  reform  sermons  !  I 
am  not  yet  calm,  and  high,  and  pure  enough 
myself,  I  feel,  for  this.  I  can  but  protest  and 
complain  ;  and  this,  I  feel,  is  out  of  place  in 
the  church.  I  came  away  yesterday  afternoon 
restless  and  dissatisfied  and  unhappy  ;  not  more 
serene,  devout,  and  cheerful,  as  these  hours  in 
the  sanctuary  should  have  made  me  ;  and  can  I 
hope  my  people  were  any  better  off  .^  .  .  . 

I  have  six  or  eight  manuscript  hymns,  some 
of  which  you  have  seen.  .  .  .  Do  let  us  have 
some  more  original  ones  ;  such  as  will  embody 
the  true  ideas,  without  all  the  plague  of  altera- 
tion ;  such  as  will  just  suit  our  sermons.  I  wish 
we  had  done  this  at  first,  instead  of  altering  old 
hymns.  Take  your  sermons,  Sam,  and  write  a 
hymn  for  each  one.  This  was  the  way  Dod- 
dridge made  his  book.  .  .  . 

To-day  I  voted,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life, 
and  for  Palfrey  as  representative  to  Congress. 
I  have  been  reading  some  facts  about  the  war 
to-day,  and  it  is  lamentable  to  see  how  those 
weak  Whigs,  all  but  sixteen  in  both  Houses, 
were  panic-stricken,  frightened,  cajoled  into  as- 
suming and  supporting  the  war,  —  a  cunning 
trick  of  a  despotic  President,  who   first  assumed 


WEST  CAMBRIDGE  73 

a  power  to  which  he  had  no  shadow  of  claim,  and 
then  duped  Congress  into  taking  the  thing  off 
his  hands.  It  seems  that  they  need  not  have 
done  anything  even  to  rescue  Taylor ;  first, 
because  any  assistance  from  them  must  necessa- 
rily be  too  late,  and  secondly,  because  he  already 
had  authority  to  demand  aid,  as  he  did  from 
Louisiana  and  Texas.  Here  is  a  thing  to  be 
reached  by  political  action.  Mr.  Webster  says, 
in  that  weak  speech  of  his  :  "  If  the  voting  for 
the  war-bill  stained  a  man's  hands  with  blood, 
then  is  the  whole  Whig  party  red  with  blood  up 
to  the  chin."  True,  O  Daniel !  Think  of  it  ! 
Only  sixteen  men  straightforward  enough  to  cut 
through  a  "  complicated  question  "  by  a  simple 
fidelity  to  conscience,  —  not  even  acute  poHti- 
cians  enough  to  keep  out  of  this  trap  of  their 
opponents  ! 

TO    EDWARD    EVERETT    HALE. 

Cambridge,  December  15,  1846. 

Dear  Edward,  —  I  admire  the  vermilion 
edict,^  and  to  hear  would  be  to  obey ;  but  it  is 
not  **  ceteris  paribus  "  (if  one  but  knew  the  Chi- 
nese for  that !),  and  now,  while  you  are  packing 
your  portmanteau,  I  will  tell  you  why  I  cannot 

1  Hale  had  left  a  note  written  upon  a  sheet  of  red  paper,  used 
by  the  Chinese  as  a  visiting-card. 


74  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

come.  Because  I  am  going  to  West  Cambridge 
on  the  2d  of  January,  to  take  up  my  abode  and 
supply  the  pulpit  for  three  months.  ...  It  is 
rather  a  bleak  time  to  go  to  so  rural  a  place,  but 
I  weary  of  wandering  about  and  seeing  new 
faces  every  Sunday,  and  "getting  the  hang"  of 
a  new  pulpit  every  week.  ...  I  am  glad  you 
have  spoken  a  good  word  for  our  hymn-book.  .  .  . 
Though  the  people  of  New  Bedford  spoke  kindly 
of  its  poetry,  none  of  them  seem  to  have  seen 
the  real  merit  of  the  book  in  its  higher,  health- 
ier, more  active,  love-to-man  tone  ;  in  short,  its 
more  purely  Christian  tone.  Dr.  Ephraim  Pea- 
body  showed  some  insight  into  the  book  and  our 
views.  Remorse  for  sin  is  not  there,  and  was 
not  meant  to  be.  Not  that  it  is  not  a  real,  some- 
times terribly  real,  state  of  soul,  but  surely  not  a 
healthy  one ;  and  surely,  too,  a  most  private  and 
individual  one,  and  (even  if  one  should  find  a 
sincere  and  earnest  expression  of  it  in  verse)  out 
of  place  in  public  worship.  ...  Of  course,  we 
look  for  likers  of  our  book  rather  in  new  pulpits 
than  in  old.  Sunday  before  last  I  was  at  Mount 
Pleasant,  in  an  elegant,  but  rather  desolate 
church,  with  an  unequaled  expanse  of  pulpit. 


WEST  CAMBRIDGE  75 

TO    SAMUEL    JOHNSON. 

Newburyport,  January  iS,  1847. 

Bless  you,  Sam,  and  a  happy  New  Year  to  you. 
You  will  see  by  my  date  that  I  have  accepted 
the  invitation  of  the  First  Religious  Society  to 
preach  for  them  one  Sunday  and  make  a  little 
visit.  The  place  looks  forlorn  these  cold  days,  so 
chilled  and  blue-nosed  !  The  people,  though,  are 
only  too  attentive,  and  will  have  me  to  dinner, 
or  to  ride,  or  to  call,  or  to  tea,  or  at  least  to  be 
introduced  to  them  on  the  meeting-house  steps. 
The  young  ladies  beg  me  to  come  to  their 
Sunday-school  class,  and  the  school  committee 
will  take  me  into  the  young  ladies'  Academy, 
where  I  shall  be  called  upon  for  an  address, 
Sam,  a  young  minister  must  keep  clear  of  these 
girls  !     Beautiful  enthusiasts,  in  vain  will  all  the 

P s  strive  to  tame  their  efflorescence  !   There 

is  a  picture  of  the  whole  matter  in  Retsch,  —  the 
poet  in  the  hands  of  the  water-nymphs. 

The  first  thing  that  caught  my  eye  on  entering 
the  pulpit  was  a  bunch  of  flowers ;  so  I  read 
"  Consider  the  lilies,"  but  as  I  brought  them 
home  the  bitter  air  froze  them  into  *'  poor,  un- 
sightly, noisome  things."  I  was  glad  to  find 
they  came  from  a  married  lady.  .  .  .  My  former 
landlady  at  West  Cambridge  was  sad  when  I  left. 


']6  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

and  begged  me  not  to  preach  my  best  sermons 
here.  About  this  society  C.  wrote  me  that  they 
need  a  reformer,  one  who  would  cry  aloud  and 
spare  not.  The  committee  who  came  to  see  me 
would  n't  allow  but  what  all  was  in  an  excellent 
state,  as  if  only  to  the  righteous  was  a  minister 
to  go.  The  gentleman  with  whom  I  took  tea  last 
night  said,  in  the  elegant  language  of  Ezekiel,  that 
they  wanted  a  minister  who  would  make  a  *'  shak- 
ing among  the  dry  bones  ;  "  that  they  wanted 
some  one  **to  preach  up  sin  !"  Can  I  do  that, 
Sam  ?  Would  n't  it  be  as  well  to  preach  it  down  ? 
I  can't  understand,  nor  will  I  yield  to,  this  morbid 
desire  of  some  people  to  be  made  uncomfortable. 
If  they  know  they  are  sinners,  as  they  say,  why 
want  to  be  told  so  by  their  minister }  I  can, 
however,  understand  how  people  may  desire  to 
be  aroused  from  inaction  and  indifference.  But 
I  don't  like  this  depending  on  the  minister  for 
excitement  ;  this  passive  waiting  to  be  moved. 
Some  of  the  people  here  evidently  want  evangel- 
ical preaching.  "Such  preaching  as  Peabody's 
and  Parker's  and  Putnam's,"  said  my  above- 
mentioned  friend.  How  liberal !  thought  I ;  this 
is  the  right  sort.  But  I  found  he  meant  Nathan 
Parker  of  Portsmouth,  not  Theodore. 


■       WEST  CAMBRIDGE  7/ 

TO    SAMUEL    JOHNSON. 

West  Cambridge,  March  2,  1S47. 

Dear  Sam,  —  I  shall  never  ask  you  to  come 
and  see  me  again,  I  believe  !  I  felt  so  lonely  and 
downcast  after  your  departure.  I  sought  in  vain 
to  take  refuge  in  a  sermon.  In  the  afternoon  I 
felt  as  if  a  good  walk  would  revive  me,  and  I 
went  away  down  to  the  two  elms.  Then  I  called 
in  to  see  an  old  lady,  very  sick,  who  lay  panting 
for  breath  upon  her  bed.  I  could  say  but  little 
to  her,  and  I  felt  that,  at  such  a  time,  the  voice 
of  prayer  was  the  most  calming  and  strengthen- 
ing thing.  Two  days  after,  she  died,  and  to- 
morrow I  attend  the  funeral.  Next,  I  stopped  to 
read  one  of  my  sermons  to  a  poor  woman  who 
has  been  confined  to  the  house  for  sixteen  years, 
and  then  home,  in  just  such  a  sunset  of  fine  pale 
gold  as  we  saw  the  trees  against,  the  other  after- 
noon. The  evening  was  spent  in  futile  attempts 
to  fix  my  mind  upon  a  text  and  a  sermon.  So  I 
resolved  to  get  an  exchange,  and  stopped  at 
Briggs's,  Thursday,  on  my  way  to  Brookline,  but 
found  no  one.  The  night  with  Sam  Eliot,  who 
was  preparing  his  ''Words  of  Christ."  They 
urged  my  preaching  for  them  on  Sunday,  and  I 
went  over  to  effect  an  exchange  with  old  Dr. 
Pierce,  but  found  him  not  at  home,  and  proceeded 


yS  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

to  Boston.  There,  after  dinner,  I  went  to  the 
South  End  after  Waterston,  who  was  kindly,  but 
had  promised  to  be  at  home  on  Sunday.  Then 
away  to  the  North  End  to  Robbins,  who  would 
gladly,  but  could  not ;  then  to  Dr.  Parkman's, 
who  was  engaged  at  Old  Cambridge,  but  would 
prefer  West  Cambridge,  only,  being  sick,  wanted 
if  possible  to  stay  in  Boston ;  expressing  at  the 
same  time  deep  concern  for  my  dilemma,  and 
tempted  to  say  he  would  go.  This  failing,  I 
went  to  tea  with  Miss  Dabney,  and  told  her  I 
had  a  good  mind  to  take  passage  in  the  Har- 
binger, next  week,  and  indulge  myself  with  a 
voyage  and  a  recruiting  visit  in  Fayal  till  the 
autumn.  The  night  at  Craigie  House.  Friday, 
an  attempt  upon  Divinity  Hall,  but  Went  worth 
Higginson  was  engaged  at  Newburyport,  and 
nobody  else  at  home.  So  into  Boston  again. 
Dr.  Parkman  had  arranged  with  Winkley,  but 
was  still  anxious  to  go  for  me,  only  for  his 
erysipelas,  and  the  prospect  of  a  stormy  Sunday. 
Met  Weiss  with  a  lame  eye,  seeking,  like  myself. 
Went  off  to  J.  F.  Clarke,  —  not  at  home.  Then 
away  down  beyond  Boylston  Market  to  Fosdick, 
but  he  wanted  an  exchange  for  only  half  a  day ; 
so  I  lost  the  enviable  chance  of  appearing  in 
Hollis  Street  !  Then  to  J.  I.  T.  Coolidge,  who 
was    not   at   home ;   again    met    Weiss,   forlorn  ; 


WEST  CAMBRIDGE  79 

Muzzey  must  be  at  home ;  Barrett  had  his  Com- 
munion. Finally,  at  three  o'clock  I  took  the 
Lowell  cars  for  Medford,  sure  of  Caleb  Stetson ; 
but  ah !  he  had  promised  to  preach  a  famine 
sermon,  and  so  the  last  stay  was  gone,  at  four 
o'clock  Saturday  afternoon,  except  myself,  who 
must  now  needs  be  at  home.  So,  through  the 
snowstorm,  I  took  my  way  to  West  Cambridge, 
no  longer  discouraged,  but  quite  sure,  now,  that 
all  would  come  out  right. 

After  tea  I  took  up  an  old  school  essay  (known 
to  Frank  as  ''  Metamelomai,"  —  I  repent),  and 
after  copying  the  first  page,  launched  off  into 
a  new  vein,  and  (with  an  interlude  in  the  parlor), 
at  eleven  o'clock  stopped  at  the  end  of  the  fourth 
sheet,  determined  not  to  sit  up  any  longer.  The 
sermon  turned  out  a  sort  of  reform  discourse : 
**  Repent,  — the  cry  of-  the  prophet  of  all  ages." 
I  was  glad  to  find  that,  in  preaching,  it  seemed 
quite  long  enough.  Sunday  morning  came,  with 
its  slush.  Then  the  rest  of  "  Metamelomai," 
with  a  few  new  pages,  must  make  the  afternoon 
sermon,  more  personal  than  the  morning's.  And 
so  ends  this  true  history  of  a  young  minister's 
travels  in  search  of  an  exchange.  Do  communi- 
cate to  Frank  the  final  end  of  "  Metamelomai ;  " 
it  will  amuse  him. 


8o  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

On  the  conclusion  of  his  engagement  at  West 
Cambridge,  Mr.  Longfellow  was  pressingly  be- 
sought to  remain  as  permanent  pastor.  But, 
while  he  found  it  hard  to  do  so,  he  adhered  to  his 
resolution  of  postponing  settlement  until  he  had 
had  the  experience  of  preaching  in  a  greater 
number  of  parishes.  Some  of  the  tokens  of 
regret  at  his  departure  were  quite  affecting ;  one 
was  very  handsome.  '*  I  have  not  written  my 
[last]  sermon  yet,"  he  says  to  Johnson,  "and 
shall  not  give  them  2,ny  farewell.  I  hate  scenes, 
and  am  shy  of  emotion  now.  When  I  feel  it  com- 
ing on,  I  make  myself  rigid  against  it.  I  used 
to  be  too  sentimental.  Sam,  the  ladies  have 
given  me  a  beautiful  gold  watch  as  a  remem- 
brance.    What  can  I  say  hutj'e  reviendrai  ?  " 

In  the  autumn  of  1847,  their  kind  insistence 
still  troubles  him.  **  I  went  to  West  Cambridge 
last  week  and  spent  a  day  and  night  in  making 
visits  to  former  friends.  Sam,  they  want  me 
still.  S.  said  so  directly,  and  that  they  wanted 
but  a  word  from  me  to  give  me  a  call.  I  am 
rather  sorry.  It  seems  not  to  leave  me  free. 
Ought  I  to  yield  to  this  entreaty .''  Sometimes 
it  seems  so.  Yet  I  still  feel  as  if  I  might  find  a 
place  more  truly  lume.  W.  is  staying  there,  and 
is  to  preach  one  Sunday  more.  It  is  hard  if 
their  regard  for  me  prevents  them  doing  justice 
to  others." 


WEST  CAMBRIDGE  8 1 

While  he  was  at  West  Cambridge,  Mr.  Long- 
fellow had  received  a  similar  earnest  call  to 
Newburyport.  The  uncertain  state  of  his  health 
chiefly  decided  him  against  what  he  felt  would, 
or  should,  be  a  laborious  field.  The  same  cause 
led  him,  on  leaving  West  Cambridge,  to  take  an 
interval  of  rest  from  professional  work,  and  to 
resort  to  a  water-cure,  then  the  popular  nostrum. 
But  he  yielded  to  a  tempting  invitation  to  preach 
a  few  Sundays  in  Washington,  and  to  enjoy  its 
balmy  climate,  before  proceeding  to  Brattleboro' 
for  the  hydropathic  treatment. 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

West  Cambridge,  March  22,  1847. 
Dear  Sam, —  The  deed  is  done  !  Yesterday 
Mr.  Dorr  read  to  the  Society  my  letter  declining 
their  invitation,  and  saying  that,  on  account  of 
my  health,  I  should  not  think  of  being  settled 
anywhere  at  present.  Sometimes  I  feel  ashamed 
to  say  anything  about  my  health,  when  I  think 
how  many  much  sicker  persons  than  I  are  faith- 
fully working  away  in  the  ministry.  But  when  I 
think  how  much  better  I  can  take  the  time  now 
than  ever  again,  and  how  much  more  good  it  will 
do  now,  I  feel  that  I  have  not  done  wrong,  and 
that  in  a  few  months  I  shall  be  able  to  be  strongly 
and   satisfactorily   at    work.     It  certainly   looks 


82  SAMUEL   LOXG FELLOW 

more  like  cool  judgment  than  enthusiastic  self- 
devotion  to  God's  work.  Alas,  Sam,  that  bap- 
tism has  not  yet  come  to  me !  .  .  .  The  W.'s,  to 
whom  I  had  confided  my  determination,  pleaded 
to  the  last,  and  Mrs.  W.  in  this  touching  manner. 
I  had  been  reading  her  some  verses  of  Isabella 
Batchelder's,  called  "  Jesus  knocketh,"  and  the 
next  morning  I  found  the  following  appended  in 
pencil :  — 

"Jesus  knocketh,  when  his  people, 

Orphaned  by  the  hand  of  God, 

Call  thee  as  his  faithful  servant 

To  divide  to  them  his  word. 

Jesus  knocketh  ;  oh  !  refuse  not 

Pastor,  friend,  and  guide  to  be ; 

Cheer  the  fainting  ;  win  the  sinner  ; 

Jesus  waits  ;  He  calls  for  thee." 

I  hated  to  resist  their  entreaties,  but  I  did. 
The  W.'s  are  still  desirous  that  the  Society  shall 
await  my  emergence  from  the  Wasser-Kiir.  But 
I  will  not  promise  them  to  come,  even  then. 

I  have  not  told  you  of  my  visit  to  Plymouth. 
I  stayed  until  Tuesday  morning,  having  a  very 
pleasant  time.  Finest  weather  ;  clearest  sky  ; 
bluest  sea  ;  how  it  made  my  heart  bound  !  The 
church  is  Gothic,  under  the  loveliest  avenue  of 
old  elm-trees.  Old  Dr.  Kendall,  a  kind-hearted, 
liberal  man,  like  Dr.  Flint,  had  me  to  tea  ;  and 
a  mile  out  of  town,  in  a  sunny  valley,  I  found 


J  VEST  CAMBRIDGE  83 

my  pleasant,  enthusiastic,  transcendental  farmer 
friend,  Ben  Watson,  living  in  a  cottage  which  I 
planned  for  him,  and  which  turns  out  as  com- 
fortable and  convenient  as  it  is  pretty.  He  is  a 
real  worker,  and  by  and  by  will  have  a  lovely 
place  ;  as  yet,  all  is  to  be  made ;  but  he  is  one 
who  can  live  a  good  while  on  ideals.  .  .  . 

Plymouth  is  really  an  interesting  place.  You 
are  terribly  disappointed  in  the  Rock,  which  you 
can  scarcely  see  in  the  midst  of  the  wharf.  But 
the  upper  half,  which  lies  now  in  front  of  Pilgrim 
Hall,  I  looked  at  with  a  good  deal  of  emotion. 
But  the  burial-hill  and  the  sea  !  The  heads  of 
the  people  are  full  of  free  thought,  excited  on  all 
reforms.  It  is  a  great  place  for  freedom,  as  it 
should  be  with  that  sea  and  those  recollections. 
There  is  even  the  social  freedom  of  going  into 
each  other's  houses  without  knocking.  I  fear 
the  railroad  will  do  away  with  much  of  its  primi- 
tive character  before  long. 

R.  has  sent  me  his  discourses  on  theology, 
supernaturalism,  etc.  Quite  characteristic,  and 
loosely  enough  stated,  but  containing  good 
truths,  plainly  told,  about  the  relations  of  God, 
man,  and  Jesus.  He  takes  the  ground  that, 
since  Nature  is  God,  nothing  can  be  really  super- 
natural, but  only  above  our  present  knowledge 
of  Nature.     Christ  was  profoundly  natural,  etc., 


84  SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW 

after  the  fashion  of  the  Dudleian  Lecture  [Dr. 
Furness's].  This  is  the  great  thing  to  be  taught 
now,  and  I  am  glad  R.  has  said  it. 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Philadelphia,  May  2,  1847. 
Dear  Sam,  —  Your  letter  came  welcome  to 
me  in  Washington,  and  you  have  wondered  why 
the  oracle  gave  no  response.  Truly  the  god  was 
doing  what  the  Jewish  prophet  cast  into  Baal's 
worshipers'  teeth  about  him,  walking,  eating, 
sleeping,  going  of  journeys.  With  no  great 
business  on  hand  at  Washington,  I  was  idly  busy, 
and  had  no  quiet  place  where  to  write  comforta- 
bly. I  was  there  just  three  weeks  and  two  days, 
and  like  Washington  vastly  better  than  from 
former  experience  I  supposed  I  should.  First 
of  all,  meeting  the  spring,  with  its  soft  air  and 
green  grass,  and  budding,  blooming  trees,  was  a 
separate  joy  and  delight  of  itself.  The  grounds 
about  the  Capitol  were  my  especial  resort  while 
I  lived  near  by,  as  I  did  the  first  week.  Then, 
after  I  went  to  the  other  end  of  the  city  to  stay 
at  my  uncle's,  I  used  to  walk  among  the  hills 
which  "stand  about  "  the  city  and  lead  you  over 
to  Georgetown,  and  drink  in  new  life,  and  gather 
violets  and  sabbatias  and  saxifrages  under  the 
trees,   after  a   manner   that   would  have   made 


WASHINGTON  85 

Margaret's  and  Mr.  Judd's  heart  glad.  After 
all  (it  was  thus  I  meditated  as  I  sat  on  a  tree- 
root  and  picked  the  rose-colored  flowers),  we  owe 
much  to  the  man  who  gives  us  feelings  and 
images  that  come  up  to  us  in  our  plcasantest 
hours.  This  was  apropos  of  Margaret's  walk 
through  the  woods,  which  came  to  me  in  those 
pleasant  Georgetown  walks.  Sometimes,  seek- 
ing the  shadow,  I  tried  a  sketch,  and  I  will  show 
you  a  little  picture  of  one  pretty  spot  with  a 
veritable  ruin  in  the  foreground.  But  I  did  not 
feel  any  better  in  Washington.  .  .  . 

It  is  the  strangest  place  externally,  full  of 
huts,  hovels,  and  barren,  gullied  commons,  in  the 
midst  of  handsome  houses  and  grand  public 
buildings.  Under  that  sky  I  felt  some  of  the 
real  beauty  of  the  Greek  architecture.  Morally, 
the  people  are  rather  indolent  than  anything  else, 
I  should  think.  I  mean  the  permanent  society, 
but  there  is  such  a  vast  floating  population  that 
there  is  no  tone  of  general  sentiment,  and  the 
place  is  fearfully  corrupt.  The  whole  class  of 
yellozv  people,  many  of  the  women  of  which  are 
pretty,  are  at  once  victims  and  cause  of  one  por- 
tion of  this  corruption.  I  did  not  get  at  much 
about  slavery.  In  the  city  the  colored  people 
are  mostly  free,  generally  degraded,  but  have 
schools    and    churches    (Methodist     generally). 


86  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

Many  of  them  are  well  to  do  in  the  world  and  on 
Sundays  dress  like  Broadway  exquisites.  As  to 
antislavery  sentiments,  as  far  as  I  could  see  or 
hear,  it  seemed  to  amount  to  this,  that  slavery 
was  a  great  inconvenience  and  trouble  to  the 
whites  and  hurtful  to  the  outward  prosperity  of 
the  State.  *'  They  disliked  it  as  much  as  any- 
body could  ;  but  there  it  was,  without  their  fault, 
and  they  did  n't  see  how  they  could  get  rid  of 
it,  but  supposed  by  and  by  it  would  disappear. 
They  would  not  have  the  slaves  set  free  to 
remain  among  them,  idle  and  vicious  as  they 
were ;  the  North  might  take  them,  since  it  had 
such  a  fondness  for  them  ;  at  any  rate,  if  we  were 
sincere  in  our  desire  to  set  them  free,  we  had 
better  put  our  hands  into  our  pockets  and  remu- 
nerate their  masters,  etc.,  etc."  This  was  the 
amount  of  what  I  could  gather  amid  the  many 
inconsistent  and  contradictory  views  of  those 
with  whom  I  talked  about  it.  The  main  difficulty 
is  that  the  moral  idea  is  scarcely  thought  of. 
Nobody  feels  that  it  is  wrong,  but  only  an  incon- 
venience and  economically  a  bad  system.  It  may 
be  the  business  of  the  Northern  abolitionists  to 
give  them  this  moral  idea,  though  they  have 
been  slow  to  take  it,  and  never  may.  While  I 
was  coming  on,  I  was  much  "exercised"  as  to 
whether  I  should  or  should  not  preach  about  the 


WASHINGTON  87 

matter.  Feeling  sick  and  nervous  and  unable  to 
write,  I  doubted  whether  I  could  say  anything 
worth  while  ;  then  came  up  doubts  of  the  purity 
of  my  motives  ;  whether  I  should  n't  be  doing  it 
from  vanity,  or  a  spirit  of  bravado  ;  then,  whether 
my  words  would  be  wise  and  calm  enough,  phy- 
sically out  of  order  as  I  felt,  and  so  on.  Then, 
two  successive  weeks,  I  had  to  attend  funerals, 
and  hated  to  meet  the  mourners  with  a  reform 
sermon,  and  so  it  came  to  the  last  service,  and 
I  had  said  nothing  directly  about  the  matter. 
Then  I  said.  It  will  never  do ;  and  I  sat  down 
before  going  into  church  and  hastily  wrote  two 
pages  about  the  war  and  two  about  slavery,  such 
as  they  were,  and  went  into  church,  taking  the 
sermon  called  "  Repent,  the  cry  of  the  prophet," 
read  *'Cry  aloud,  spare  not,"  etc.,  from  Isaiah, 
and  then  preached.  What  I  said  about  slavery 
was  very  calm  and  not  the  least  in  the  ''  spare 
not "  vein,  only  urging  that  if  they  saw  this 
thing  to  be  an  evil,  as  they  profess,  they  ought 
not  to  be  indifferent  or  to  acquiesce  in  it  ;  nor 
to  be  content  with  deploring  it ;  but  in  earnest 
to  do  something,  or  begin  to  do  something,  to 
remove  it.  That  the  way  of  duty  was  clear  ; 
that  God  v/ould  give  unexpected  help  in  the  way 
of  right,  and  that  the  difficulties  would  vanish 
before  faith  and  a  sincere  purpose.     That  each 


88  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

should  do  what  he  could,  —  feel,  speak,  plan,  or 
execute  as  God  had  given  power.  This  was  what 
I  said,  encouraging  rather  than  denouncing,  and 
all  brief  and  hasty.  Sam,  they  took  it  beauti- 
fully ;  nobody  went  out,  and  some  stopped  to  say 
good-by  to  me  at  the  door. 

The  next  day  I  did  not  learn  that  anybody 
was  offended  except  some  NortJieni  people.  Mr. 
Abbott  said,  Sunday  evening,  that  he  had  always 
told  the  people  that  there  was  little  use  in  hav- 
ing a  pulpit  unless  it  was  to  be  free  on  this  as  on 
all  subjects.  Still,  I  doubt  whether  they  would 
settle  a  known  abolitionist. 

I  am  here  in  Philadelphia  spending  a  rainy 
Sunday.  I  stayed  to  hear  Furness.  It  was  rather 
too  intellectual  a  sermon,  but  he  said  some  ex- 
cellent things.  .  .  .  Think  of  these  horrid  people 
illuminating,  as  they  did  here  and  in  Baltimore 
and  Washington,  for  the  Mexican  barbarities  !  I 
felt  more  indignant  about  that  than  about  slavery. 
And  these  miserable  Whigs  now  taking  advan- 
tage of  Taylor's  corrupt  popularity  to  ride  into 
power,  after  all  they  have  said  about  the  war .' 
Dr.  Dewey  preached  a  fine  sermon  at  Washing- 
ton about  political  morality,  which  was  good 
enough  to  give  offense  to  the  politicians. 


BRATTLEBORO'  89 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Brattleboro',  May  20,  1847. 

Dear  Sam,  —  I  am  having  a  very  pleasant 
time  here  ;  but  between  walking  and  watering 
have  little  leisure  to  write.  .  .  .  Having  been 
waked,  nearly  an  hour  before,  by  the  tramping  of 
people  past  my  door  to  their  baths,  I  am  invaded 
by  a  German  Heinrich,  who  takes  my  bathing- 
sheet,  and  swathing  myself  in  a  blanket  like  an 
Indian  chief,  I  follow  him  into  the  bathroom, 
where  I  sit  down  in  a  long  tub  and  have  water 
poured  over  me,  and  am  rubbed  for  a  time  ;  then 
dried  on  said  sheet,  bandaged,  and  dismissed  to 
dress  and  walk  half  or  three  quarters  of  an  hour 
before  breakfast,  generally  taking  the  "  circle," 
as  it  is  called,  across  the  brook  and  round  by  the 
D.'s,  where  I  stop  under  the  trees  and  drink  a 
couple  of  tumblers  of  water.  After  breakfast, 
walking  again,  rambling,  exploring,  stopping, 
alone  or  in  company.  Sam,  there  are  the  love- 
liest places  you  ever  saw,  to  search  after  and 
enjoy;  ravines,  hills,  wood-paths,  cascades,  green 
meadows.  So  till  eleven  o'clock,  when  I  again 
resort  to  the  bathroom  and  sit  down  in  a  tub  of 
cold  water,  clothed  in  the  aforesaid  blanket ;  and 
when  we  get  a  number  together  along  the  sides 
of  the  room,  it  is  wonderfully  suggestive  of  an 


90  SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW 

Indian  council  or  pow-wow.  Bandages  renewed, 
and  then  a  walk  again  to  ''get  up  a  reaction," 
that  is,  to  prevent  being  chilly.  This  brings 
me  to  dinner  with  a  ravenous  appetite.  After 
dinner,  lounging,  talking,  music,  battledore  for 
a  while,  or  reading  and  writing,  perhaps  a  siesta 
till  four  or  five  ;  then,  after  another  sitz-bath,  a 
walk  of  an  hour  till  tea.  After  tea,  walk,  stroll, 
read  newspapers,  play,  sing ;  perhaps  there  is 
dancing  in  the  saloon,  or  other  family  amuse- 
ments. ...  So  much  for  my  life  here.  I  write 
with  my  body  swathed  in  moist  linen  bandages, 
which  impart  a  constant,  not  disagreeable  sense 
of  coolness  and  moisture. 

Of  Furness  and  the  Dudleian  lecture,  —  what 
a  pity  you  should  n't  have  been  there !  Well, 
you  shall  read  it.  He  said  we  must  not  look 
out  of  Christianity  for  natural  religion,  but  into 
it.  It  was  the  only  natural  religion,  what  man 
was  made  for  and  must  come  to.  Christ  was 
not  apart  from  Nature,  but  a  part  of  Nature,  his 
miracles  and  all.  The  common  view  of  miracles 
was  low  and  narrow,  he  said.  There  were  some 
very  eloquent  episodes ;  one  about  childhood. 
One  or  two  strong  sentences  about  the  war  and 
slavery  ;  too  short  for  anybody  to  go  out,  even  a 
law-student.  The  only  difficulty,  I  thought,  was 
that  the  idea,  a  new  one  to  many,  though  old  to 


BRATTLEBORO''  9 1 

Furness  (and  you  and  me),  was  not  brought  out 
with  quite  sufficient  distinctness,  especially  for 
those  who  were  not  familiar  with  Furness's  writ- 
ings. The  fact  is,  it  was  the  very  ground  taken 
in  Parker's  sermon,  so  far  forth  as  this,  that 
Christ  did  not  create  the  truths  he  uttered, 
but  saw  and  stated  eternal  truths ;  which  seems 
obvious  enough,  but  is  not  commonly  recognized. 
Some  people  were  enthusiastic  ;  others  praised 
cautiously ;  others  thought  it  novel  and  rather 
dangerous,  —  and  so,  I  fear,  he  is  too  much  of  a 
heretic  for  the  Hollis  Professorship. 

TO    SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

Brattleboro',  June  12,  1847. 

Dear  Sam,  —  Here  are  some  hymns  I  got 
from  the  *'  Christian  Lyre."  These  Methodist  and 
Baptist  people's  "  second  coming  "  hymns  make 
grand  reform  ones.  But  how  meagre  their  idea 
of  the  meaning  is  ;  a  personal  salvation,  while 
the  world  (which  Christ  came  to  save)  all  goes 
to  red-hot  destruction.  But  the  churches  are 
waking  up,  Sam,  all  about.  The  "New  England 
Conference"  (I  don't  know  of  what  sect  it  is) 
has  passed  some  strong  resolutions  and  state- 
ments against  slavery,  and  the  Methodists  of 
Accomack  County,  Virginia,  came  out  so  strongly, 
not  long  since,  that  a  public  indignation  meeting 


92  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

was  called  to  see  that  the  republic  received  no 
detriment.  The  leaven  is  at  work.  Charles 
Sumner  has  sent  me  his  "  White  Slavery  in  the 
Barbary  States,"  interesting  historically  and  a 
sort  of  covert  argumentnvi  ad  hovtinem,  all  along, 
to  our  slaveholders  and  slavery-excusers.  The 
parallel  is  ingeniously  suggested  and  sometimes 
applied.  All  helps,  plain  words  and  parables. 
But,  Sam,  no  peace  yet !  Well,  we  will  be 
patient, —  be  "partners  of  Christ's  patience." 
Isn't  that  a  fine  phrase.'*  .  .  . 

As  to ,  Sam,  I  don't  know  ;  we  will  talk 

about  it. 

"  Where  love  is  absent,  works  are  found 
As  tinkling  brass,  an  empty  sound." 

I  do  iiot  love  them.  If  it  were  marriage,  that 
would  be  enough.  (I  am  now  entirely  versed  in 
all  the  mysteries  and  responsibilities  of  love  and 
matrimony,  having  just  finished  Harriet  Mar- 
tineau's  love-novel  "  Deerbrook")  I  am  enjoying 
myself  very  much,  but  do  not  feel  much  effect 
from  the  waters  yet.  Sam,  not  one  of  the  baths 
is  so  violent  or  disagreeable  as  a  blister,  the 
commonest  resort  of  allopathy.  Our  life  is  easy 
and  social,  quite  like  a  Phalanstery,  I  sometimes 
think  ;  stated  baths  being  substituted  in  place  of 
labors. 


BRATTLEBORO'  93 

So,  Sam,  you  must  come.  I  long  for  you  not 
exactly  in  a  thirsty  land,  but  in  a  beautiful  one, 
flowing  with  milk  and  water,  spiritually  thirsty, 
perhaps.  But  "  I  live  in  the  outward  now ; "  I 
am  only  sorry  that  I  don't  feel  myself  getting 
well,  stronger,  and  less  nervous. 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 
Brattleboro'  Bathing-Tub,  July  5,  1847. 

Dear  Sam,  — ...  You  see  I  am  still  among 
the  mountains  and  the  springs.  Not  finding  so 
speedy  benefit  as  I  had  hoped,  and  not  finding  so 
hot  weather  as  I  feared,  I  have  concluded  to  stay 
a  little  longer.  .  .  .  The  first  of  August  I  mean 
to  go  to  Portland.  And,  Sam,  I  must  have  a 
visit  from  you  there.  .  .  .  And  there,  in  the 
old  house  and  in  the  little  upper  room,  scene  of 
many  boyish  dreams  and  hopes  and  conflicts  and 
visions,  we  will  put  in  order  the  new  hymn- 
book  [second  edition].  .   .  . 

I  was  in  Maclntire's  pulpit  yesterday,  and  it 
being  Fourth  of  July,  could  not  but  give  them  a 
page  or  two  on  the  war  and  slavery.  They  will 
be  quite  ready  for  you !  .  .  .  Your  words  give 
me  strength. 


94  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

TO  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

Portland,  August  7,  1847. 

Dear  Sam,  —  You  see  I  have  bidden  adieu 
to  Bathing-Tubs,  mountains,  and  springs,  and 
descended  to  the  level  of  the  sea.  It  has  rained 
ever  since  I  have  been  here,  almost,  and  so,  cut 
off  from  my  baths  and  my  walks  at  once,  I  don't 
feel  quite  so  well  for  the  change  ;  but  I  shall  get 
into  the  sea  as  soon  as  practicable.  .  .  . 

I  preached  at  Brattleboro',  Sunday,  on  the  Suf- 
ferings of  Christ.  In  the  afternoon,  William 
Channing  on  Patience.  It  was  a  beautiful  ser- 
mon, not  quite  so  eloquent  as  I  expected.  The 
theme  and  occasion  were  not  such  as  to  rouse 
him,  I  suppose.  He  wove  it  upon  my  morning's 
sermon,  beginning,  '*  Our  thoughts  were  this 
morning  turned  to  the  consideration  of  the  suffer- 
ings of  Christ.  He  was  presented  to  us  as  a 
man.  There  are  two  other  views  held  by  Chris- 
tians ;  one  which  regards  him  as  the  Incarnate 
God,  and  one  which  considers  him  as  a  mediator. 
But  looking  at  the  sufferings  of  the  man,  what  is 
so  beautifully  conspicuous  through  all  as  his  pa- 
tience," and  so  on. 

So  you  see,  Sam,  mine  is  a  "  humanitarian  ** 
sermon  everywhere.  Channing  is  not  satisfied 
with  this  view,  with  the  view  presented  in  Fur- 


PORTLAND  95 

ness's  Dudleian.  Regarding  not  so  much  the 
individual  but  the  race, — the  man,  or  Humanity, 
—  he  says  this  aggregate  man  must  have  some 
Head,  and  Christ  is  this.  That  is  not  very  clear 
to  me,  as  I  told  him  ;  when  he  went  on  to  say 
that  as  in  progressive  series  we  see  first  inani- 
mate nature,  then  living  things,  then  man,  always 
rising  upward  towards  God  ;  there  must,  at  last, 
be  some  link  in  the  chain  which  will  come  next 
to  God,  and  directly  communicate  life  from  Him 
to,  and  so  through,  the  rest  to  the  lowermost. 
Christ  is  this  link  ;  in  other  words,  he  is  the 
Mediator.  Many  things  suggested  themselves 
after  this  statement,  but  I  had  not  a  chance  to 
talk  with  him  farther.  He  shocked  some  people 
by  introducing  and  dwelling  upon  the  idea  that 
God  suffers  with  men  ;  that  He  could  not  be  the 
Father  if  He  did  not  ;  if  He  did  not  feel  pain  in 
view  of  all  this  evil  and  suffering.  But,  Sam,  I 
think  of  Him  as  seeing,  tJiroiigJi  all,  the  great 
Light  and  Glory,  seeing  all  the  clouds  float  into 
light.  I  cannot  receive  that  idea,  at  least  in  the 
common  meaning  of  siiffermg.  But  how  lan- 
guage fails  in  trying  to  speak  of  God ! 


96  SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Portland,  September  11,  1847.  " 
Dear  Sam,  — ...  I  have  lingered  here  longer 
than  I  meant  to  ;  but  now,  resisting  all  entice- 
ment of  cheap  boats  and  sleepless,  poisonous 
nights  on  board,  I  shall  take  the  cars  Wednes- 
day morning,  and  on  reaching  Newburyport  shall 
go  at  once  to  the  church  to  help  ordain  Went- 
worth  [Higginson].  Dr.  Nichols  goes  with  some 
reluctance,  not  approving  of  no-council  innova- 
tions. Said  he  would  n't  go  but  for  Wentworth, 
or  some  other  particular  friend,  thus  leaving  a 
corner  open  for  me,  you  see.  He  has  never  said 
a  word  to  me  about  your  sermons.  L.  thinks  he 
was  a  little  frightened,  and  that  his  next  sermon 
was  meant  as  an  antidote.  There  is  much  talk 
about  you,  though  ;  several  much  delighted  and 
interested.  One  lady  asked  me  if  you  were  a 
Deist,  seeing  you  did  n't  speak  of  Christ  through 
the  whole  service !  Strange  that  Deist,  i.  e., 
Godist,  should  be  thought  a  bad  thing  or  name ! 
I,  however,  enlightened  her.  I  have  worked 
over  those  hymn-book  manuscripts,  copying 
hymns,  etc.,  almost  every  day.  ...  I  have  made 
some  beautiful  chants  from  the  Apocrypha, 
Deistic  wretch  that  I  am  !  I  have  found  in  a 
paper  a  good  temperance  hymn. 


WEST  CAMBRIDGE  97 

After  his  stay  at  the  water  cure,  Mr.  Long- 
fellow resumed  candidating.  One  of  the  places 
he  visited,  a  beautiful  rural  city  of  central  New 
England,  in  which  dwelt  a  peculiarly  refined  and 
cultivated  society,  attracted  him  greatly,  and  it 
was,  perhaps,  a  real  loss  to  both  the  people  and 
the  minister  that  (as  Colonel  Higginson  writes) 
"  The  parish  was  tardy,  and  their  invitation  did 
not  come  until  after  he  had  accepted  a  call  to 
Fall  River.  He  wrote  to  me,  with  real  feeling, 
about  it,  and  said,  *  If  ever  a  man  felt  drawn  to  a 

place,  that  man  was  I,  and  that  place  was .' 

Then  he  admitted  the  comparative  barrenness 
of  Fall  River  (at  that  time  a  new  manufacturing 
town),  and  ended,  *  But  Mount  Hope  shines  fair 
in  the  distance,  and  I  am  content.'  This  was  a 
type  of  his  life  ;  for  him.  Mount  Hope  always 
shone  in  the  distance,  as  fair  as  the  actual  moun- 
tain from  Fall  River." 


VI 

FALL    RIVER 

Mr.  Longfellow's  first  pastorate  was  assumed 
under  a  genuine  impression  of  duty.  Perhaps  it 
is  not  always  best  that  inscrutable  personal  lean- 
ings should  be  rigidly  controlled. 

TO    EDWARD    EVERETT    HALE. 

Cambridge,  November  21,  1847. 

Dear  Edward,  —  ...  I  have  just  had  a  con- 
versation with  Ephraim  Peabody  [then  Rector 
of  King's  Chapel],  a  sort  of  ''  charge  "  from  him, 
which  I  like  much  better  thus  in  private  than  in 
the  usual  public  way.  He  has  inspired  me  to 
take  some  great  plans  or  ideas  into  my  head,  and 
sacrificing  romance  and  hopes  of  sympathy  and 
of  the  enjoyments  of  cultivated  social  intercourse, 
to  go  straight  to  Fall  River  and  make  the  church 
over,  or  build  up  its  growth  after  my  own  ideas. 
.  .  .  My  own  impression  of  the  place  has  been 
that,  as  a  new,  busy,  and  growing  one,  it  was  a 
good  place  for  action  and  influence  ;  that  a  man 
must  go  there  willing  to  depend  upon  himself  for 


FALL  I^rVER  99 

impulse,  except  so  far  as  he  should  find  it  from 
distinctly  seeing  the  needs  of  the  people,  and 
desiring  to  meet  them.  The  town  is  beautifully 
situated,  but  new  and  crude,  in  itself  offering 
little  to  gratify  the  aesthetic  taste  ;  the  people, 
occupied  in  "  business,"  having  little  time  for 
social  intercourse  or  culture,  but  kindly  and  ready 
to  be  influenced.  A  place,  as  yet,  not  crystal- 
lized ;  increasing  by  a  thousand  or  so  a  year  in 
population,  where  a  man  of  sufficient  force  might 
impress  himself  as  far  as  he  chose,  and  give 
his  own  "  color  to  the  alum-basket."  All  this 
attracts  me,  and  I  am  on  the  point  of  writing 
a  letter  of  acceptance  ;  when  up  rises  a  vision  of 
forlornness  and  barrenness,  and  I  pause. 

This  conversation  with  Peabody  has  done  more 
than  any  one  thing  to  make  me  say  I  will  go, 
turning  my  back  on  doubts,  but  whether  an  hour 
hence  will  not  find  them  fully  alive,  I  know  not. 
The  people  seem  liberally  disposed.  The  spokes- 
man of  the  committee,  an  intelligent  man,  and  of 
influence  there,  writes  me  that  they  won't  care 
a  fig  about  having  an  ordaining  council ;  ...  of 
his  own  accord  he  proposed  to  me  that  I  should 
suggest  to  the  Society  that  I  should  preach  but 
one  sermon  a  week,  having  a  devotional  service 
or  Sunday-school  on  the  other  half-day. 


lOO  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

TO    SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

Fall  River,  November  29,  1847. 

Dear  Sam,  —  Behold  me  here  !  Not  yet  set- 
tled, but  in  imminent  peril  of  being.  The  week 
before  Thanksgiving,  a  gentleman  wrote  to  me 
that  I  was  sent  for  from  Fall  River,  and  for  three 
Sundays  ;  I  told  him  I  would  go  for  two,  but 
would  n't  engage  farther ;  so  I  came  down  here 
on  the  20th,  and  spent  a  dark,  lowering  Sun- 
day, thinking  Fall  River  the  most  dismal  place, 
almost,  I  was  ever  in.  Monday  morning  I  was 
off  at  daylight,  and  on  Saturday  came  again. 
The  sun  shone  out  a  little,  and  things  looked 
altogether  more  attractive.  The  committee  had 
begged  me  to  come  prepared  to  spend  the  week. 
.  .  .  I  am  astonished  to  find  that  I  can  look  with 
any  complacency  upon  the  place,  so  forlorn  did  it 
seem  to  me  at  first,  including  the  church,  which 
John  Ware  thinks  so  beautiful,  and  which  I  dis- 
like as  much.  Well,  last  night,  I  being  at  tea 
with  one  of  the  congregation,  Mr.  B.  entered  and 
informed  me  that  at  the  meeting  of  the  Society 
after  church  services,  a  strong  desire  had  been 
manifested  to  give  me  a  call !  I  was  taken  by 
surprise.  I  told  him  that  my  wish  had  been  not 
to  be  settled  till  the  spring,  though  I  wanted  to 
preach   during   the   winter.     He   said  that  they 


FALL  RLVER  lOI 

wished  to  ascertain  whether  I  was  in  a  condition 
to  accept  a  call,  and  that  a  committee  would 
confer  with  me,  etc.  ...  A  week  ago,  I  should 
have  been  ready  to  say,  "No,"  at  once;  now  I 
am  surprised  at  myself  that  I  do  not  say  it,  — 
but  I  do  not. 

Sam,  there  are  many  new  societies  springing 
up  which  one  would  like  to  look  at  first.  They 
look  upon  this  as  a  new  society,  however.  It 
certainly  needs  building  up  from  the  present 
handful.  Am  I  the  man,  and  is  this  my  place } 
I  am  incHned  to  think  I  ought  to  be  in  a  town, 
—  but  why  need  I  trouble  you  with  my  pro's 
and  con's  ?  Perhaps  you  do  not  know  .  .  .  how 
much  such  a  matter  as  this  harasses  me.  .  .  . 

Sam,  I  believe  it  is  the  bay  which  has  charmed 
me  ;  I  know  not  what  else ! 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Boston,  December  ii,  1847. 

Dear  Sam,  —  ...  Of  Fall  River.  I  have  more 
than  half  a  mind  to  go  there.  I  see  that  I  must 
lay  aside  all  aesthetic  and  romantic  dreams,  the 
ideal  church  and  other  ideals,  for  a  long  while  at 
least,  if  I  go.  Must  give  up  things  that  I  am 
right  in  valuing.  ...  On  the  other  hand,  I  see  it 
is  a  centre  of  influence  ;  it  is  not  yet  crystallized, 
is  free  to  be  moulded.    I  think  I  could  do  there  as 


I02  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

I  wish,  SO  soon  as  they  have  become  acquainted 
with  me.  I  saw  some  kind-hearted  men  and 
women.  Last  Sunday  morning  I  preached  my 
"Coming  to  Christ."  I  threw  in  an  extempore 
paragraph  on  the  absurdity  of  denying  the  Chris- 
tian name  to  men  who  did  n't  believe  the  mir- 
acles, that  they  might  understand  my  theological 
position.  B.  walked  home  with  me;  liked  the 
sermon  very  much.  Yesterday  came  a  note  from 
him  saying  that,  being  very  desirous  of  pursuing 
the  study  of  Christ's  life,  he  had  determined,  if  I 
should  come  to  Fall  River,  to  devote  five  hundred 
dollars,  in  the  course  of  three  or  five  years,  to 
the  purchase  of  books  under  my  direction  that 
might  help  in  the  investigation.  Now,  I  must 
say  that  one  man  so  interested  as  that  would  be 
worth  much  to  any  minister. 

At  the  hotel,  I  saw  several  young  men  (and 
there  must  be  plenty  in  the  town)  whom  I 
thought  I  could  bring  into  my  church.  I  was 
sorry  that  I  could  not  see  more  of  the  people  ; 
but,  as  I  said,  they  did  n't  come  near  me.  Busy 
all  day  and  tired  at  night,  I  suppose.  .  .  .  The 
most  interesting  thing  I  saw  was  an  evening 
school  (free)  for  young  men  over  sixteen,  working- 
men,  you  know,  boys  from  the  country  and  the 
like. 


FALL   RIVER  IO3 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Cambridge,  December,  1847. 
Dear  Sam,  —  ...  The  die  is  cast,  the  cup 
taken  !  Saturday  I  sent  my  letter  of  acceptance 
to  Fall  River,  resisting  the  allurements  of  an 
invitation  to  preach  in  the  Church  of  the  Mes- 
siah, New  York,  and  an  appealing  letter  from 
Albany.  I  wrote  two  letters,  .  .  .  one  to  the 
committee  containing  business  matters,  —  such 
as  the  congregational  ordination ;  one  sermon  a 
week  ;  new  hymn-book  ;  vacation.  And  the  other 
to  the  Society,  to  be  read  after  the  first  should 
be  satisfactorily  arranged,  containing  matters 
of  sentiment,  anti  -  sectism,  freedom  of  speech, 
reform,  etc.  I  hope  that  I  may  have  a  hymn 
from  you  for  the  ordination,  and  shall  keep  a 
place  open. 

TO    EDWARD    EVERETT    HALE. 

Portland,  January  31,  1848. 

Dear  Edward,  —  I  ought  not  to  have  let  the 
newspapers  be  the  first  to  tell  you  of  my  wedding- 
day  with  the  bride,  the  church  of  Fall  River.  .  .  . 
There  is  to  be  no  council.  I  am  disappointed 
that  Dr.  Nichols  will  not  be  present  to  lay  his 
hand  upon  my  head  and  give  his  paternal  bless- 
ing ;  but  he  hates  to  leave  home,  especially  in 


I04  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

winter,  and,  I  doubt  not,  has  a  lurking  objection 
to  taking  part  in  such  unconciliatory  measures  as 
I  have  suggested.  So  I  have  asked  Ephraim 
Peabody,  who  is  apostolical  and  friendly,  and 
indifferent  to  councils,  and  for  whom  I  preached 
the  other  day  in  Boston. 

The  ordination  and  installation  took  place  upon 
the  1 6th  of  February,  1848.  Charles  H.  Brig- 
ham,  of  Taunton,  offered  the  introductory  prayer. 
John  Weiss,  of  New  Bedford,  preached  a  pow- 
erful and  striking  sermon,  on  "  The  Modern 
Pulpit."  Dr.  Convers  Francis,  of  the  Divinity 
School,  offered  the  ordaining  prayer  and  gave 
the  charge ;  George  Ware  Briggs,  a  former  pas- 
tor, then  of  Plymouth,  delivered  the  address  to 
the  people,  and  John  F.  W.  Ware,  more  recently 
pastor  of  the  Society,  extended  to  his  successor 
the  right  hand  of  fellowship.  Edward  Everett 
Hale  read  from  the  Scriptures.  The  first  hymn 
sung  was  by  the  new  pastor,  and  Henry  W. 
Longfellow  wrote  for  his  brother  that  altogether 
perfect  one,  beginning 

"  Christ  to  the  young  man  said :  'Yet  one  thing  more, 
If  thou  wouldst  perfect  be.' " 

Of  the  service,  and  its  effect  upon  his  own 
feelings,  Mr.  Longfellow  wrote  to  Mr.  Johnson, 
**  I  rejoice  that  the  ordination  services  so  much 


FALL   RIVER  IO5 

impressed  you.  The  only  want  I  felt  was  of 
something  more  of  a  devotional  tone  to  meet  my 
own  feelings  at  the  time.  The  prayer  was  almost 
the  least  moving  thing  to  me,  of  all  ;  but  during 
the  whole  of  it,  that  line  of  Henry  Ware's  hymn 
ran  in  my  mind,  'Sin,  sloth,  and  self  abjured 
before  the  altar,'  which,  indeed,  contains  all  that 
could  be  said.  The  '  right  hand  '  was  the  most 
interesting  part  to  me.  I  could  not  give  to  the 
sermon  the  close  attention  it  needed,  but  I  felt 
it  was  an  admirable  statement  of  what  so  much 
needed  to  be  said  distinctly  now." 

The  exercises  were  printed,  and  he  says  to 
Hale,  "  I  write  this  note  that  I  may  put  it  into  the 
post,  together  with  a  copy  of  the  sermon,  which 
please  accept  with  all  those  friendly  regards 
which  I  dared  not  put  upon  its  front.  If,  from  a 
pure  love  of  the  place  of  your  adoption,  you  get 
your  ordination  sermon  printed  at  a  provincial 
press,  you  subject  yourself  to  some  delay,  and 
get  a  provincial-looking  pamphlet,  after  all.  Still, 
civitatis  7'cgimine  donatus  though  you  are,  I  trust 
you  will  look  with  complacency  upon  these  some- 
what dim  pages,  and  let  some  memories  of  the 
occasion  shine  through  them.  Weiss  has  added 
a  page  or  two,  to  give  more  completeness  to  his 
statement.  He  loses  something  in  the  reading. 
His  face,  and  the  quaintness  of  his  voice  and 


I06  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

manner,  so  precisely  fitted  to  his  style,  and  so 
entirely  the  complement  of  his  words,  are  want- 
ing. Yet  they  are  readily  summoned  by  one  who 
heard  them." 

Samuel  Longfellow  had  now  fully  entered  upon 
real  life.  He  had  matured  slowly,  but  was  com- 
ing into  full  possession  of  his  powers  and  un- 
derstanding of  himself.  He  was  twenty -nine 
years  of  age ;  thoroughly  educated,  both  gener- 
ally and  professionally  ;  of  rare  personal  culture 
and  delicate  traits  of  mind,  which  adorned  with- 
out weakening  the  firm  moral  substance  of  his 
manhood.  "  He  was  a  difficult  person  to  deline- 
ate," writes  Colonel  Higginson,  "  from  the  very 
simplicity  and  perfect  poise  of  his  character.  He 
was,  in  the  old  phrase,  '  a  very  perfit  gentil  knight.' 
He  had  no  exceptional  or  salient  points,  but  an 
evenness  of  disposition  which,  from  boyhood  on- 
ward, kept  him  not  only  from  the  lower  temp- 
tations, but  the  higher  ones.  This  was  true  of 
him  when  I  knew  him  in  college,  and  true  at 
every  later  period.  One  could  not,  for  a  moment, 
imagine  him  vexed,  or  petty,  or  ungenerous.  Few 
men  have  led  a  life  of  such  unbroken  calm  and 
cheerfulness.  At  the  same  time,  he  was  equal, 
in  strength  of  character,  to  any  emergency,  and 
would  have  borne  himself  firmly  upon  the  rack 
when  more  boisterous  men  failed.  ...  He  went 


FALL    RIVER  10/ 

about  your  room,  as  a  lady  once  said,  '  murmur- 
ing little  charities  ; '  for  every  book,  every  pic- 
ture, he  had  a  word  of  kindly  apology,  making 
the  best  of  it  ;  but  he  had  his  own  standard  of 
right,  and  adhered  to  it  with  utter  fearlessness. 
He  did  not  strive,  nor  cry,  nor  did  any  man  hear 
his  voice  in  the  streets  ;  but  on  any  question 
requiring  courage,  he  held  the  courageous  side." 
Another  classmate  in  the  Divinity  School  ^ 
writes  of  him,  as  he  knew  him  at  that  period  : 
''  He  was  singularly  quiet  and  undemonstrative. 
He  made  no  professions  of  friendship,  no  dis- 
play of  knowledge,  never  argued  or  dwelt  on 
differences  of  opinion,  uttered  no  uncharitable 
imputations.  Himself  the  soul  of  sincerity  and 
truth-loving,  he  seemed  to  assume  that  all  were 
similarly  disposed.  At  first,  he  appeared  to  me 
utterly  oblivious  of  the  darker  sides  of  human 
character,  as  if  he  did  not  recognize  that  there 
was  any  such  thing  as  sin  in  the  world,  or  any 
occasion  for  a  struggle  against  evil  in  our  own 
souls.  This,  I  found  afterwards,  was  my  own 
mistake.  It  came  from  his  disposition  always 
to  look  upon  the  bright  side,  both  in  his  esti- 
mate of  others  and  in  his  own  experience.  By 
his  clear,  optimistic  faith,  he  discerned,  beyond 
the  struggle,  the  final  victory  and  peace.     I  felt 

1  The  Rev.  Ephraim  Nute. 


I08  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

deeply  his  superiority  of  character,  his  Christ- 
like spirit.  Among  the  advantages  of  the  school, 
I  esteemed  his  influence  one  of  the  richest. 
There  was  a  nameless  calm,  a  gentleness  min- 
gled with  earnestness  and  strength,  a  fine  poetic 
spirit.  He  filled  a  large  place  in  my  remem- 
brance as  one  to  whom  I  owe  much  which  yet  I 
cannot  clearly  define." 

As  he  began  his  Fall  River  pastorate,  Mr. 
Longfellow's  health  was  still  unsatisfactory,  al- 
though improved  by  the  rest  he  had  enjoyed  dur- 
ing the  previous  summer.  He  w^as  consciously 
accepting  a  difficult  post  of  service,  but  one  to 
which  he  felt  generously  challenged. 

In  his  opinions  he  had  reached  substan- 
tially, although  he  had  not  yet  fully  explored  it, 
the  religious  position  which  characterized  him 
throughout  coming  years.  While,  up  to  this 
time,  he  retained  much  of  the  phraseology  and 
peculiar  sentiments  of  Christianity,  he  was  al- 
ready, like  Theodore  Parker  (to  use  the  term 
now  gaining  currency),  a  "Theist,"  in  that,  in 
his  religious  life,  his  devout  sentiments  and  aspi- 
rations, he  admitted  no  mediator  between  him- 
self and  the  Divine  Spirit.  He  conducted  his 
religious  work  under  the  spiritual  leadership  of 
Jesus,  crediting  his  miracles  and  resurrection, 
and  recognizing  in  him  qualities   highly  excep- 


FALL   RIVER  IO9 

tional.  Yet  he  interpreted  the  endowments  of 
Jesus  in  accordance  with  a  strictly  humanita- 
rian view,  on  the  naturalistic  principles  which 
Furness  was  now  urging  with  so  much  force  and 
attractiveness.  He  was  poetical  rather  than 
mystical  in  temperament  ;  an  intuitionalist  in  his 
philosophy  ;  a  transcendentalist  in  his  thought 
of  the  relation  of  man  to  God,  to  himself,  and  to 
the  facts  of  being. 

But  the  ethical  element  was  always  the  deep- 
est of  all  in  Samuel  Longfellow,  and  was  becom- 
ing prominent  in  his  thought,  his  preaching,  and 
his  views  of  professional  duty.  To  the  reforms 
of  the  day,  especially  the  antislavery  reform,  he 
was  giving  an  ardent  sympathy  and  increasing 
attention.  The  "funnier  things  yet"  which,  a 
few  years  before,  he  had  expected  to  see,  were 
now  the  grave  subjects  of  his  most  earnest 
thought  and  sense  of  duty.  In  political  affairs, 
at  this  time  so  agitated  and  ominous,  he  took 
the  eager  and  serious  interest  of  a  patriot  and  a 
moralist,  hesitating  never  to  refer  to  them,  in 
his  mild  but  emphatic  and  persuasive  way,  in 
his  Sunday  discourses. 

As  a  parish  minister,  Mr.  Longfellow's  forte 
was  always  in  the  close  personal  relations  he 
knew  how  to  establish  between  himself  and  his 
people.     As  he  had  foretold,  his  power  in  the 


no  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

pulpit  lay  in  reaching  individual  hearts  with 
truth,  more  than  dealing  with  abstruse  and  diffi- 
cult questions  of  philosophy  and  theology.  Or, 
rather,  the  former  was  the  aim  he  peculiarly  cher- 
ished in  all  parts  of  his  ministry.  He  had  a  sin- 
gular gift  of  ''  understanding  "  others,  their  trials, 
perplexities,  and  cares,  their  moral  struggles 
and  spiritual  wants;  and  the  art  of  helping  and. 
cheering  them  by  kindly,  wise  suggestions  and 
delicate  attentions.  Both  men  and  women  were 
drawn  to  him  by  a  power  of  which  they  could 
hardly  explain  the  charm.  For  children  he  had 
always  an  especial  love  and  care,  and  won  their 
affections  as  he  did  those  of  their  elders.  Their 
love  for  him  was  instinctive  ;  they  trusted  him, 
and  clustered  about  him,  by  a  natural  impulse 
which  it  scarcely  required  words  for  him  to  ex- 
cite. His  gentle  manners,  grave  but  genial,  his 
pleasant  humor,  the  quickness  of  his  sympathies 
on  all  sides,  the  transparency  of  his  religious 
emotions  and  moral  instincts,  the  quiet  wisdom 
of  his  practical  thought,  won  the  confidence  of 
growing  youth,  of  the  sorrowing,  the  doubting, 
the  troubled  in  mind,  and  prepared  them  to 
accept  inspiration,  guidance,  or  comfort.  The 
absolute  truthfulness  of  his  character  took  from 
all  his  ministrations  among  his  people  the  profes- 
sional air,  and  made  them  the  affectionate  expres- 


FALL   RLVER  III 

sions  of  trusty  friendship.  Old  observances  be- 
came instinct  with  fresh  reality  and  significance. 
He  could  not  be  restricted  in  his  sympathies  or 
services  to  the  limits  of  his  parish,  but,  much 
more  a  man  and  citizen  than  a  minister,  he  over- 
flowed in  good  works  to  all  about  him  whom  in 
any  way  he  could  reach. 

The  obstacles  to  his  full  success  in  his  chosen 
calling  were  poor  health,  and  a  sensitiveness  of 
which  it  was  partly  the  cause,  and  which  was 
doubtless  excessive.  The  former  impaired  his 
energy  ;  the  latter  caused  him  to  undervalue  the 
services  he  rendered  to  those  about  him.  His 
instinct  of  spontaneity  made  formality  impossible 
to  him,  and  custom  irksome.  A  growing  indi- 
vidualism, which  he  shared  with  Weiss,  Frothing- 
ham,  Higginson,  and  others  of  the  brightest  minds 
of  the  day,  was  weakening  his  sympathy  with  the 
majority  of  the  Unitarians  and  the  organized 
work  of  the  body.  A  highly  aesthetic  tempera- 
ment created  wants  which  were  imperious,  but, 
in  the  prosaic  life  of  New  England  fifty  years 
ago,  not  easily  satisfied.  His  conscience  often 
reproved  what  was  wholly  constitutional  and  a 
necessity  of  his  being. 

Few  situations  are  less  inspiring  than  that  of 
a  clergyman  settled  in  a  small  community  given 
up  to  material  interests  ;    over  a  church   feeble 


112  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

in  numbers  and  spiritual  life,  in  which  the  atten- 
tion of  the  members  who  really  care  for  its 
welfare  is  absorbed  in  filling  the  seats  and  collect- 
ing ever-insufficient  dues.  In  such  a  position  a 
man  needs  not  only  fervor  of  purpose,  but  a  deep 
insight  and  much  practical  wisdom,  to  discern  his 
opportunity  and  its  rewards. 

Mr.  Longfellow  began  his  work  at  Fall  River, 
as  was  intimated  above,  in  a  spirit  of  earnestness 
which  was  better  than  enthusiasm,  and  with  as 
clear  a  comprehension  as  was  perhaps  possible, 
to  a  neophyte,  of  its  difficult  conditions.  But 
when  the  excitement  of  installation  in  his  new 
post  had  subsided ;  before  he  had  formed  organic 
relations  with  the  life  of  the  community,  or  had 
become  acquainted  with  his  people ;  condemned 
to  live  at  a  wretched  country  hotel,  to  eat  his 
solitary  meals  in  a  bustling  dining-room  ;  scarcely 
meeting  his  parishioners  except  at  church,  and 
expected  to  produce  two  discourses  each  week, 
our  young  minister,  at  first,  found  the  situation 
dreary.  He  discovered  a  few  congenial  women  ; 
among  men,  the  only  one  who  supplied  to  him 
that  near  companionship  which  was  so  needful 
to  him  was  a  ''  transcendental  music-teacher,  who 
has  some  good  ideas  and  a  deep,  true  feeling  for 
his  art."  The  poverty  of  suggestion  in  his  con- 
ditions, out  of  which  sermons  could  not  flow  and 


FALL   RLVER  I  I  3 

could  with  difficulty  be  squeezed,  his  conscien- 
tious mind  too  willingly  interpreted  as  "  spiritual 
deadness  "  in  himself.  He  needed  philanthropic 
activities,  the  sphere  of  which  he  could  not  im- 
mediately find  amid  a  prosperous,  self-sufficient, 
busy  population.  To  the  prescriptive  duties  of 
his  post  he  gave  himself  faithfully,  already  char- 
acteristically trying  to  make  all  religious  occa- 
sions genuine  and  freshly  significant.  His  first 
communion  -  service  was  an  occasion  of  much 
moment  to  him.  He  wrote  to  his  friend  Hale 
for  suggestions  as  to  its  mode,  and  reported  its 
celebration  both  to  him  and  to  Johnson,  and 
especially  in  a  thoughtful,  affectionate  letter  to 
his  mother,  whose  heart  would  naturally  be 
deeply  with  her  son  on  an  occasion  which,  in 
those  days,  was  felt  to  be  of  so  much  importance 
and  significance. 

TO    EDWARD   EVERETT    HALE. 

Fall  River,  March  i,  1848. 
Dear  Edward,  —  On  next  Sunday  is  my  first 
communion.  My  wish  is  to  have  it  open  to  all, 
and  if  possible  to  have  the  whole  congregation 
remain,  even  if  they  do  not  all  partake  of  the 
bread  and  wine.  I  think  this  is  your  plan.  Will 
you  tell  me  how  you  arranged  it,  whether  you 
sent  the  bread  and  wine  to  all,  or  whether  you 


114  SAMUEL   LOXG FELLOW 

asked  those  who  wished  to  partake  to  come  up  to 
the  table  and  receive  them  ?  I  Hke  the  last  plan 
the  best,  if  the  people  will  not  feel  shy  about  it. 

.  .  .  I,  the  solitary,  am  not  yet  "  set  in  a  fam- 
ily." For  the  time,  it  is  more  convenient,  if  not 
so  pleasant,  for  me  to  remain  here  at  the  hotel.  I 
hope  by  and  by  to  find  some  pleasant  house  where 
I  can  have  a  sight  of  the  bay.  There  is  as  lovely 
a  water-view  as  you  will  easily  find,  short  of  the 
actual  ocean.  Failing  of  this,  I  think  I  shall  fall 
back  on  my  pastoral  right  to  a  home  in  the  par- 
sonage, which  has  passed  into  the  hands  of  a 
member  of  the  society.  It  is  in  a  quiet  shady 
nook  and  very  inviting,  save  in  being  cut  off  from 
the  sight  of  the  water. 

I  am  not  exactly  the  solitary,  though  of  course 
companionless.  Three  little  families  of  my  flock 
live  in  this  house,  and  among  them  at  least  one 
intelligent  and  sympathetic  woman.  The  peo- 
ple are  not  very  demonstrative,  or  vocative.  It 
strikes  one  oddly  to  find  that  nobody  seems  to 
have  been  here  above  a  few  years.  You  ask 
some  questions  about  the  place  and  are  answered, 
"  Oh  !  I  came  here  only  six  months  ago,"  or,  "  We 
moved  here  last  year,"  or,  "When  we  came 
here,  some  three  or  five  years  since,"  and  so  on. 
There  are  no  aborigines,  evidently,  since  the 
skeleton  in  armor  was  burnt.    And  they  all  unite 


FALL   RIVER  II5 

in  abusing  the  place  and  saying  how  unsocial  it 
is,  whereas  if  all  these  agreeable  people  would 
but  come  together  once  or  twice  a  week  they 
might  have  the  pleasantest  society.  The  town, 
under  this  spring  sun,  appears  to  me  altogether 
fairer  than  when  I  saw  it  in  December.  I  find 
too,  already,  more  of  cultivation  than  I  expected, 
at  least  among  the  women.  It  is  harder  for 
me  to  get  at  the  men,  who  are  never  at  home. 
I  have  been  in  very  good  spirits,  bating  some 
dyspepsia.  Before  long  we  must  explore  the 
shortest  road  between  Worcester  and  here.  .  .  . 
Write  as  soon  as  you  can  and  often  —  to  the 
Bishop  of  Fall  River,  Sam'l  ►J^  F.  R. 

TO    HIS    MOTHER. 

Mount  Hope,  March  7,  1S48. 

My  dear  Mother,  —  I  think  you  will  be  in- 
terested to  hear  of  my  first  communion  ;  so  I 
shall  delay  my  pastoral  visits  this  afternoon  till 
I  have  written  you  a  brief  account  of  Sunday's 
service. 

I  learned  that  the  number  of  communicants  was 
small,  though  the  invitation  had  been  always 
extended  to  all.  The  service  was  appointed  for  the 
afternoon,  as  there  is  always  the  largest  attendance 
in  that  part  of  the  day.  In  the  morning  I  preached 
a  sermon,  giving   my  views   upon  the    commu- 


Il6  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

nion  ;  that  it  was  one  of  the  ministrations  of 
religion  which  should  be  open  to  all  with  entire 
freedom ;  and  that  all  should  feel  at  liberty  to 
unite  in  it ;  that  it  should  be  a  simple,  cheerful 
commemoration  of  Christ,  from  which  all  feeling 
of  dread  should  be  banished ;  that  no  one  need 
shrink  from  coming  to  the  table  of  him  whose 
love  was  toward  all  men,  and  who  ate  with  pub- 
licans and  sinners,  any  more  than  he  need  shrink 
from  approaching  in  prayer  the  All  Holy  Father. 
I  dwelt  somewhat  upon  these  points,  endeavor- 
ing to  remove  the  unfounded  and  injurious  feeling 
of  awe  and  mystery  which,  to  many  minds,  veils 
this  rite,  and  I  closed  by  saying  that  I  should 
invite  all  to  unite  with  us,  who  should  feel  at  the 
time  a  desire  to  do  so,  whether  they  had  ever 
before  or  not,  and  whether  they  would  ever  again 
or  not ;  that  some  might  find  satisfaction  in  par- 
taking of  the  bread  and  wine,  and  others  be 
best  helped  by  joining  in  spirit  in  the  prayers, 
the  meditations,  the  associations  of  the  time.  I 
wished  first  and  most  of  all  to  impress  a  sense  of 
perfect  freedom  ;  thinking  this  essential  to  open 
the  way  to  a  spiritual  understanding  and  recep- 
tion of  the  rite.  In  the  afternoon,  the  whole 
service  —  hymns,  scripture,  and  prayer  —  was 
made  a  remembrance  of  Jesus.  I  preached  my 
sermon  on  the  sufferings  of  Christ,  closing  it  with 


FALL   RLVL'.L^  II7 

a  reference  to  the  communion  and  a  repetition  of 
my  desire  that  all  should  feel  at  liberty  and  wel- 
come to  unite  with  us.  Then  I  gave  a  benedic- 
tion, and  after  a  pause  of  a  few  minutes,  that  any 
might  have  an  opportunity  to  retire  who  wished, 
I  came  down  to  the  table.  Not  a  person  left  the 
house.  I  made  a  short  extempore  address,  apply- 
ing more  particularly  the  sentiment  of  the  sermon, 
and  then  a  prayer.  Then,  breaking  the  bread,  with 
the  usual  words,  I  took  it  from  the  table  and  car- 
ried it  myself  to  each  pew,  offering  it  to  all,  and 
the  same  with  the  wine,  repeating  at  intervals 
appropriate  sentences  from  the  Scriptures.  Only 
a  few  partook  of  the  elements,  perhaps  none  who 
had  not  been  accustomed  to  do  so.  We  then 
united  in  a  silent  prayer,  followed  by  the  Lord's 
Prayer  and  the  benediction. 

The  only  thing  that  was  not  entirely  pleasant 
to  me  was  the  feeling  that  those  who  did  not 
partake  of  the  elements  might  feel  an  embar- 
rassment at  refusing  what  yet  they  did  not  feel 
quite  prepared  to  receive,  and  it  would  have 
been  pleasanter,  certainly  to  me,  if  all  or  nearly 
all  had  partaken  of  the  bread  and  wine.  I  think 
that  if  they  continue  to  remain,  more  and  more 
will  gradually  do  so. 

I  liked  very  much  the  distributing  the  elements 
myself  rather  than  by  deacons  ;  it  is  simpler  and 


Il8  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

less  sacerdotal  and  official.  It  brought  me  nearer 
to  my  people.  It  seems,  too,  to  be  carrying  out 
the  spirit  of  the  chapter  which  I  had  read,  where 
Jesus  washes  his  disciples'  feet,  and  says  that  he 
came  not  to  be  ministered  unto  but  to  minister. 
It  was  suggested  to  me  by  Mr.  Ware.  I  felt  the 
more  encouraged  to  hope  that  all  would  remain, 
from  Edward  Hale's  having  told  me  that  they  did 
so  from  the  first  in  his  church.  I  have  been  glad 
to  find  from  several  who  have  since  spoken  to 
me  that  the  service  was  generally  felt  to  be  very 
interesting.  I  suspect  the  only  way  to  induce 
all  the  congregation  to  remain  is  to  make  the 
communion  a  part  of  the  service  of  the  day,  and 
not  a  separate  service,  as  is  usual. 

It  is  some  time  since  I  heard  from  home.  I 
am  well,  except  some  dyspeptic  symptoms,  and 
very  contented  and  comfortable.  I  have  called 
upon  about  half  the  families  of  the  parish,  but 
I  have  to  go  alone,  and  I  find  only  the  women 
at  home,  —  the  husbands  being  at  the  shops,  day 
and  evening ;  but  I  see  some  of  them  there. 
Almost  every  house  holds  two  families,  one  up- 
stairs and  one  below,  a  mode  of  division  which  is 
a  peculiarity  of  the  place,  I  think.  But  if  the 
house  is  square,  it  is  made  to  accommodate  three 
or  four  families.  Rather  too  compact  stowage,  I 
think,  but  the  families  are  mostly  small. 


FALL   RIVER  II9 

Notwithstanding  the  importance  which  the 
young  minister  seemed,  naturally,  to  attach  to 
the  celebration  of  the  communion,  we  can  discern 
in  the  last  letter  that  his  deepest  interest  was, 
really,  in  giving  new  life,  and  especially  the  spirit 
of  freedom,  to  the  ancient  rite.  And  a  scruple, 
which  with  his  maturing  thought  ultimately  be- 
came controlling,  significantly  makes  its  appear- 
ance in  a  letter  which,  soon  after  this,  he  wrote 
to  Mr.  Johnson.  "I  begin,"  he  says,  "to  have 
something  of  Higginson's  feeling  about  the  word 
'  Christian.'  "  On  the  same  date,  another  brief 
paragraph  reveals  characteristic  tendencies  of 
thought  and  feeling.  **  Is  it  not  inspiring  to  see 
those  French  idealists  so  swaying  the  people } 
Here  it  is  thought  that  only  the  lowest  motives 
and  most  material  considerations  are  to  be  ad- 
dressed to  them,  —  that  they  cannot  appreciate 
anything  higher.  The  faith  of  these  men  is 
beautiful.     Sam,  this  thing  cannot  fail." 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Fall  River,  June  29,  1848. 
Dear  Sam,  —  I  have  just  come  from  Mount 
Hope.  For  months  it  has  been  beckoning  to  me 
across  the  water.  Nay,  it  has  been  a  friend  of 
many  years.  On  the  walls  of  the  chamber  where 
I  slept  when  a  boy  hung,  and  hangs  still,  a  little 


120  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

sketch  in  India  ink  of  Mount  Hope  and  the  bay. 
Was  it  destiny,  prophecy  ?  .  .  .  The  Hutchin- 
son family  came  here  to  sing,  and  some  of  their 
friends  got  up  an  excursion  for  them  and  asked 
me  to  join  them.  Accordingly,  at  seven  this 
morning,  we  set  sail  under  a  shaded  sky,  and  beat 
over  to  the  opposite  shore,  some  six  miles.  .  .  . 
The  brothers  are  good-hearted  and  cordial,  and 
call  you  ''brother"  in  a  very  pleasant  way. 
Mount  Hope  quite  answered  all  my  expectations, 
and  I  at  once  entered  into  negotiations  with  the 
woman  at  the  red  house  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill 
to  take  me  some  day  to  board.  We  all  drank  at 
the  spring  where  King  Philip  quenched  his  thirst. 
It  is  at  the  foot  of  a  granite  cliff,  clambered  all 
over  with  grapevine  and  wild  roses,  in  which  is  a 
little  recess  called  King  Philip's  seat.  Here  he 
may  very  likely  have  sat,  nourishing  in  his  great 
wild  heart  his  schemes  of  resistance  to  the  grow- 
ing power  of  the  whites.  We  climbed  to  the 
top  of  the  hill,  and  had  a  fine  panorama  of  the 
bay,  .  .  .  and  the  beautiful  farm  fields  all  lying 
in  the  lights  and  shadows  of  a  clouded  sky.  Then 
we  came  down  to  the  shadow  of  the  old  gnarled 
apple-trees  where  our  table  was  spread.  The 
skillful  men  and  women  concocted  a  chowder  over 
a  gypsy  fire,  which  we  had  just  begun  to  eat 
when  down  upon  us  came  a  tremendous  shower. 


FALL   RLVER  121 

which  drove  us  and  our  baskets,  well  wetted,  to 
the  shelter  of  the  red  house.  This  only  made  us 
merrier,  however.  The  Hutchinsons  sang  two 
or  three  songs,  and  then  it  was  time  to  return. 
The  wind  had  shifted,  and  we  had  to  beat  back 
again,  but  it  was  not  tedious.  The  sun  shone 
fair  upon  our  town  as  we  rounded  the  point,  and 
on  the  wharf  we  bade  good-by  to  our  friendly 
singers.  .  .   . 

I  am  encouraged  by  the  political  disaffections 
in  both  parties,  as  showing  that  partisan  bondage 
is  loosing  its  hold.  I  hope  little  from  political 
action  against  slavery.  But  so  far  as  the  govern- 
ment acts  at  all  upon  the  matter,  I  wish  it  to 
be  against  rather  than  for  slavery  ;  and  if  men 
opposed  to  slavery  can  conscientiously  go  to  Con- 
gress, I  am  glad  to  have  them  there,  and  in  the 
President's  chair,  too  ! 

Fall  River,  June  — ,  1848. 

Dear  Sam,  —  At  last  we  have  the  longed-for, 
the  beautiful,  hymn-book  !  I  am  quite  satisfied 
with  its  externals,  —  type  and  page  are  neat  and 
agreeable.  The  supplement  is  grand,  Sam,  with- 
out a  ''  stain  of  weakness  ;  "  from  beginning  to 
end  a  fine,  full  strain  of  music,  swelling,  dying, 
varying  in  mood,  but  rising  at  last  into  a  grand, 
triumphant  swell  of  sure  prophecy  ! 


122  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

...  I  had  a  delightful  visit  at  Newport ;  the 
fresh  ocean  air,  the  repose  of  the  grass-grown 
streets,  are  delicious.  It  happened  to  be  the 
day  of  the  great  Yearly  Meeting  of  the  Quakers. 
After  our  service  I  went  into  their  vast  meeting- 
house, but  I  got  no  seat,  for  the  press,  and  so  I 
soon  came  out,  leaving  a  man  lifelessly  calling  us 
through  his  nose  to  ''  go  into  the  vineyard  of  the 
Lord."  How  I  longed  for  somebody  to  speak  a 
living  word  to  that  great  concourse  from  a  real 
**  moving  of  the  spirit."  .  .  .  The  only  chance  I 
got  to  visit  the  beach  was  Sunday  night  in  the 
moonlight,  and  then  but  for  a  moment ;  but  I 
could  not  come  away  without  seeing  it.  New- 
port is  consecrated  to  me  by  the  memory  of  Dr. 
Channing,  and  I  feel  each  visit  to  be  a  pilgrim- 
age. Have  you  read  his  Life  t  There  are  some 
beautiful  incidents.  But  I  fear  it  reveals  too 
much  the  inward  process  of  self -discipline.  I 
shrink  from  reading  such  secrets,  —  they  do  not 
bear  printing.  Yet  he  [the  editor]  has  kept  back, 
with  a  true  delicacy,  the  most  interior  expres- 
sions. 

The  confidential  intercourse  between  Mr.  Long- 
fellow and  Mr.  Johnson  discloses  a  perfect  har- 
mony, and  the  unrestricted  but  delicate  intimacy 
of  two  rare  and  noble  spirits.     Letters,  frequent 


FALL   RLVER  I  23 

and  full,  usually  serious,  often  playful,  always 
affectionate,  passed  between  the  pair.  What- 
ever was  of  concern  to  either  was  eagerly  dis- 
cussed. Until  a  later  date  than  the  present, 
Johnson's  do  not  come  down  to  us,  but  their 
purport  is  to  be  inferred  from  those  of  his  friend, 
which  he  more  systematically  preserved.  John- 
son was  now  passing  through  a  trying  period  of 
candidature  ;  attracting  by  his  intellectual  power, 
his  spiritual  fervor,  and  his  brilliant  style,  but 
alarming  and  offending  by  his  frank  avowals  of 
theological  heresies,  and  of  antislavery  and  other 
reform  sentiments.  Longfellow  wrote  him  again 
and  again,  wise,  brave,  and  reassuring  letters, 
well  calculated  to  give  him  that  encouragement 
of  which,  in  his  own  despondent  moments,  he 
often  betrayed  his  need  to  his  *'  Damon,"  as  he 
sometimes  styled  him.  No  experience  was  passed 
over  unnoted,  no  emotion  was  unshared  between 
these  two  friends.  They  found  in  each  other 
something  of  that  support  and  comfort  which 
they  were  not  seeking  in  the  marriage  state. 
Their  joint  enterprise,  the  hymn-book,  had 
achieved  the  success  of  even  a  fourth  edition, 
and  the  correspondence  was  still  replete  with  sug- 
gestions about  it,  —  and  an  occasional  remittance. 
Among  the  concerns  which  presently  engaged 
Mr.  Longfellow,  in  his  parish,  was  a  very  char- 


124  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

acteristic  one.  "  I  have  been  very  busy,  reading 
new  books  for  the  Sunday-school.  Out  of  a  hun- 
dred I  rejected  fully  half,  for  bad  sentiments." 
He  also  appealed  to  Hale,  then  editing  a  Sunday- 
school  paper,  for  help.  One  phrase  of  the  follow- 
ing letter  shows  that  he  had  early  instituted 
those  intimacies  with  the  children  near  him, 
which  always  made  them  at  home  wherever  his 
own  home  was. 

TO    EDWARD    EVERETT    HALE. 

Fall  River  [no  date]. 

Dear  Edward,  — ...  I  have  occasion  to  keep 
a  store  of  little  books  for  little  children  who 
come  to  my  study,  or  to  distribute  in  my  Sunday 
school,  and  I  am  compelled  for  the  most  part  to  re- 
sort to  the  Sunday-school  Union,  which  furnishes 
an  abundant  supply  of  such  books  of  every  size, 
very  neatly  printed  and  prettily  illustrated.  But 
those  books  are  not  safe ;  they  come  in  packages, 
and  of  every  package  several  have  to  be  burned  ; 
others  will  do  with  pen-alteration  of  a  word  or 
two,  and  others  again  are  very  good.  But  I  wish 
we  could  be  as  well  furnished  with  books  of  the 
same  style,  built  after  our  ways  of  thinking ; 
which  would  impress  the  lesson  of  truthfulness 
without  allusions  to  the  "  lake  of  fire,"  and  teach 
the  presence  of  God  in  some  other  character  than 


FALL   RIVER  I  25 

that  of  spy  ;  and  warn  against  evil  without  the 
exhibition  of  an  angry  God  who  holds  "a  rod 
to  send  young  sinners  swift  to  hell ; "  and  tell  of 
Jesus  without  stating  the  object  of  his  life  to  be 
''  to  save  us  from  going  to  hell ;  "  and  inculcate 
the  importance  of  time  without  the  stimulus  of 
reference  to  the  terror  of  death  and  the  gloom  of 
the  grave. 

Opening  his  heart  to  Johnson,  he  complains  — 
the  young  minister's  trial! — of  dryness  as  to 
sermon-writing.  "I  did  hope  it  wouldn't  be  so 
when  I  got  into  my  own  pulpit.  But  I  don't  yet 
feel  identified  with  the  people  and  somehow  don't 
get  near  to  them  as  I  should  like.  But  this  must 
come  in  time,  I  suppose,  following  its  own  laws. 

..."  I  visit  daily  a  young  girl,  patiently  sink- 
ing in  consumption.  Only  now  and  then  do  I  find 
what  to  say  to  her  upon  spiritual  things.  I  find  a 
prayer  the  best  expression.  I  feel,  Sam,  that  in 
visiting  the  sick,  the  minister  should  be  able  to 
carry  with  him  an  atmosphere  oi pJiysical  health, 
which  would  be  as  reviving  as  a  breath  of  fresh 
air.  Spiritually,  I  feel  that  he  needs  to  reach 
that  height  which  shall  make  him  equally  calm  in 
the  presence  of  the  joyous  and  of  the  suffering; 
which  shall  practically  reconcile  those  apparent 
contrasts    and   discords  that  are  always  side  by 


126  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

side  in  life,  and  from  one  to  another  of  which  he 
may  be  constantly  passing  in  his  intercourse  with 
his  people.  If  he  can  look  upon  all  as  serenely  as 
God's  light  shines  at  once  upon  the  festival  and 
the  sick-chamber,  the  prison-cell  and  the  w^ork- 
shop,  then  he  will  be  welcome  and  helpful  every- 
where ;  will  be  a  true  divine  presence.  But  what 
self -con  quest,  and  baptism  of  the  spirit,  before 
that  height  of  spiritual  health  can  be  reached  !  " 

About  the  same  date  :  **  I  was  sent  for  lately 
to  attend  the  funeral  of  a  lady  whom,  or  whose 
family,  I  had  never  seen ;  the  body  was  buried  in 
a  field  near  the  house,  and  I  made  a  prayer  at  the 
grave  [after  the  house  service].  It  was  a  country 
funeral.  I  liked  the  bearing  of  the  coffin  upon 
the  friendly  shoulders  to  its  private  resting-place, 
amid  familiar  scenes,  so  much  better  than  the 
long  procession  of  carriages  and  an  entombment 
in  a  public  graveyard.  Sunday,  I  attended  the 
funeral  of  the  wife  of  one  of  my  parishioners,  of 
whose  sickness  I  had  not  even  heard.  And  on 
Tuesday  that  of  another  parishioner,  who  died 
suddenly,  leaving  a  wife  and  young  children.  It 
is  hard  always  to  keep  one's  calmness  and  serene 
faith  amid  so  many  tears,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  sympathize  with  the  sorrow. 

.  .  .  "You  have  heard  of  the  death  of  John 
Ware's  wife.     He  feels  it  deeply,  but  writes  me 


FALL    RLVER  12/ 

with  calmness.  He  says,  ''All  I  do  is  in  the 
thought  of  her,  looking  to  a  more  precious  min- 
istry than  ever  before."  Sam,  this  is  a  trial  we 
cannot  understand." 

.  .  .  ''  Last  Sunday  Charles  Spear  preached  in 
my  pulpit  in  the  evening.  I  prepared  the  way 
for  him  by  a  morning  sermon  upon  "  Christ  the 
judge  of  the  world  ;  "  speaking,  first,  of  his  judg- 
ment of  individuals  by  the  silent  lesson  of  his 
character  and  life  ;  that  pure,  unfaltering  tone 
which  may  show  each  of  us  how  far  we  are  from 
unison  with  God ;  and  secondly,  of  his  judgment 
of  man  by  the  immutable  laws  of  love  to  God 
and  to  man,  which  he  proclaimed,  and  which  are 
the  standards  by  which  all  men  and  institutions 
are  to  be  approved  or  condemned ;  closing  by 
an  application  of  these  laws  to  war,  slavery,  our 
present  system  of  trade  and  labor,  and  our  treat- 
ment of  the  criminal, 

''  I  have  been  to  the  Kennebunk  Ordination. i 
The  services  were  good,  but  I  was  a  good  deal 
'  riled  up '  by  the  ministers  ungenerously,  as 
I  thought,  insisting  upon  calling  themselves  a 
council,  which  neither  the  minister  nor  the  people 
desired.  I  even  thought  of  writing  to  the  '  Chris- 
tian Register'  about  it,  but  afterwards  cooled  off, 
and  saw   that,  whatever  they  called  themselves, 

1  That  of  the  Rev.  Joshua  Augustus  Swan. 


128  SAMUEL   LOXGFELLOW 

the  iJiino'  did  n't  exist.  ...  At  the  Boston  station 

o 

I  found  [Ralph  Waldo]  Emerson,  going  to  Saco 
to  lecture.  It  was  a  pleasant  chance.  He  was 
very  genial,  and  has  much  shrewd  common  sense. 
Rochester  [spirit]  knockings  he  could  not  away 
with  (as  indeed  who  can  .?),  and  declared  that 
'Knockings  were  only  for  the  Knockable.'  He 
*  would  n't  hear  them.  If  the  good  heaven  comes 
down  to  earth,  it  shall  at  least  be  civil.'  He  told 
me  of  the  people  he  met  in  England.  Froude  he 
liked  very  much.  Francis  Newman  he  did  not 
like.  Starr  King  appeared  also,  in  the  cars,  go- 
ing—  the  way  of  all  flesh  nowadays  —  to  lecture." 
Presently  our  young  pastor  encounters  another 
of  the  trials  of  the  minister  —  the  lay  monitor. 
The  issues  of  the  time  are  intimated  in  the  talk 
of  his  parishioner,  the  same  good  man  who  had 
offered  such  liberal  assistance  in  studying  the  life 
of  Jesus. 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Fall  River,  September  5,  1848. 

Dear  Sam,  — ...  I  came  back  to  Fall  River 

on   Thursday   afternoon    in    the    express    train, 

which   tore   along  without    stopping  and   jarred 

my  nerves  in  the  most  fearful   manner.     Thus 

wearied,  I  had  hardly  reached   here  when 

appeared  and  spent  the  whole  evening,  saying  the 


FALL   RLVER 


129 


most  disheartening  things  about  the  need  of  a 
minister's  recognizing  the  division  of  labor,  and 
confining  himself  to  the  elucidation  of  the  gos- 
pel, leaving  slavery  and  intemperance  to  be  dis- 
cussed by  those  who   had  had  time  and  oppor- 
tunity to  examine  these  subjects  thoroughly,  — 
as  the  minister  could  not  if  he  attended  to  his 
proper  work.     He  said  I  was  invited  here,  ''not 
to  be  a  minister  of  religion,  but  a  minister  of 
the  gospel,"    etc.     The   answers   were   obvious, 
but  I  was  too  weary  to  contend  with  him.     It 
chilled  and  discouraged  me,  though,  to  be  met 
thus  on  my  return,  and  the  next  day  I  felt  both 
unwell  and  homesick,  and  did  not  write  any  ser- 
mon.    Saturday,  I  wrote  a  Communion  sermon ; 
the  lesson  of  which  was  that  the  disciples  needed 
the  remembrance  not  so  much,  not  merely,  for 
their  personal  consolation,  but  because  they  had 
a  work  to  do,  for  which  they  must  be  strength- 
ened by  keeping  alive  their  union  with  Jesus  and 
with  each  other,  that   each  might  feel  that  he 
was    strong   by  all    this   strength.     So  we,   too, 
have  a  work  to  do,  since  Christ's  work  was  not 
yet  completed,  nor  God's  kingdom  come ;  a  work 
indicated  in  his  words,   "■  Inasmuch  as  ye  have 
not  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these  my 
brethren,  naked,  hungry,  sick,  in  prison,  ye  have 
not  done  it  unto  me  ;  "  and  I  applied  this  espe- 


I30  SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW 

cially  to  the  call  made  upon  a  Christian  church 
by  the  suffering  and  evil  that  existed  in  the  nar- 
row dirty  streets  and  miserable  houses  where 
the  Fall  River  poor  live  in  want  and  sin.  I  have 
felt  ever  since  I  came  here  that  I  ought  to  do 
something  for  these  children  of  wretchedness 
and  neglect ;  but  have  n't  known  how  to  get  at 
them.  Now,  I  have  found  one  kind  -  hearted 
woman  who  visits  them,  and  I  mean  to  put  my- 
self under  her  guidance,  and  I  hope  soon  to 
engage  a"  little  band  of  Christians  in  this  work. 
I  feel  that  a  common  object  of  this  kind  will  do 
more  than  anything  to  bring  about  that  union  of 
interests  of  which  there  seems  to  be  so  little  in 
my  society. 

Dear  Sam,  I  have  written  a  hymn  for  your 
ordination.  I  do  not  know  how  you  will  like  it, 
for  it  is  very  general.  What  of  Medford  t  Shall 
I  tell  you  what  Stetson  said  to  me  in  Boston, 
that  their  only  doubt  about  asking  you  seemed 
to  be  in  the  feeling  that  you  moved  in  too  high  a 
path  of  thought  for  the  common  people  }  There 
are  many,  you  know,  who  come  to  church  to  get 
a  kind  of  comfort  and  cheer  m  their  humble 
daily  work,  into  whose  sphere  of  thought  and 
action  great  ideas  do  not  enter.  Now  I  believe 
you  would  meet  these  more,  after  you  were  set- 
tled and  saw  their  need.     But  still,  your  work  is 


FALL   KLVER  I3I 

rather  that  of  a  prophet,  and  seems  to  demand 
the  moral  wilderness  of  the  city  as  its  ground  ; 
where  are  thousands  of  active,  restless  minds 
needing  to  be  set  right  rather  than  kept  right, 
needing  to  be  inspired  rather  than  comforted. 
So,  if  you  are  not  asked  to  Medford,  think  it  is 
not  the  place  for  yoii.  If  you  are,  it  will  be  the 
place  for  you,  for  a  time  certainly  —  am  I  right? 
.  .  .  Yesterday  I  got  a  letter  from  T. ;  after 
almost  a  year's  silence;  rather  rhapsodical  and 
pantheistic,  but  much  in  earnest.  But,  he  says, 
"  I  must  write  to  you  in  this  tangent  style,  for  I 
have  been  living  with  low-minded,  jealous  artists, 
and  bodies  of  sweating  models,  and  amid  the  low 
jokes  and  jargon  of  harlots  ;  drawing  from  nude 
men  and  women,  the  human  corruption  from 
which  art  must  spring,  as  the  bird  whose  cradle 
is  decay.  In  academies  and  schools,  and  amid 
the  earthly  tabernacles  so  polluted,  one  is  in 
danger  of  forgetting  the  higher  purposes  of  art. 
But  now,  away  from  all  this  (at  the  Baths  of 
Lucca ;  were  you  there  i'),  I  can  feel  the  old  ever- 
lasting song  sound  within  me,  and  I  cannot  resist 
the  feeling  which  prompts  me  to  give  my  better 
and  constant  nature  wing."  Why  '*  must  spring," 
Sam }  Is  n't  it  dreadful  to  know  that  it  does 
thus  spring  }  that  our  artists  are  thus  trained  } 
What  can  we  expect  of  art,  then  .?  Yet  it  was  so 
with  Raphael.  .   .   . 


132  SAMUEL   LOXG FELLOW 

I  see  a  notice  in  the  street  of  the  formation  of 
a  '' Workingmen's  Protective  Union."  I  must 
inquire  into  it. 

TO    EDWARD    EVERETT    HALE. 

Fall  River,  January  9,  1S49. 

Dear  Edward,  —  I  have  been  upon  the  hill 
to  see  the  coasters, — the  human  /^I'/^^^-coasters, 
I  mean,  —  and  their  shouts  still  sound  from  afar. 
This  excellent  New  Bedford  idea  has  reached 
us  this  winter,  and  ladies  and  gentlemen  renew 
their  childhood  and  make  sport  of  the  downhill 
of  life.  I  call  it  an  excellent  idea,  and  it  surely 
is,  to  get  people  out  of  doors  and  engage  them 
in  exhilarating,  healthful,  and  social  amusement  ; 
better  by  far  than  being  pent  up  in  a  ballroom. 
I  don't  see  why  coasting  should  n't  become  a 
national  New  England  sport.  ...  A  man  came 
to  me  lately  to  help  him  get  work.  I  was  not 
successful  and  it  made  me  sad,  feeling,  moreover, 
that  here  was  but  one  of  so  many.  "  A  poor 
man  seeking  work  and  unable  to  find  work ;  seek- 
ing leave  to  toil  that  he  might  be  fed  and  clothed 
—  and  in  vain;  the  saddest  sight  that  fortune's 
inequality  exhibits  under  the  sun."  In  a  world, 
too,  where  is  so  much  work  needing  to  be  done. 
If  we  could  but  bring  together  the  work  and  the 
man  ready  and  anxious  to  do  it !    I  feel  a  grow- 


FALL   RLVER  1 33 

ing  interest  in  these  and  other  social  questions, 
and  no  less  strongly  feel  my  inability  to  begin 
to  fathom  them,  through  want  of  knowledge. 
Pray  communicate  to  me  from  time  to  time  of 
yours,  and  indicate  sources  of  information.  Cer- 
tainly one  cannot  look  at  the  poverty,  wretched- 
ness, ignorance  and  inevitable  sin  which  exist  as 
a  permanent  element  in  our  fairest  communities, 
without  a  shudder  at  the  terribleness  of  the 
evils  of  whose  depth  most  of  us  have  but  faint 
conception  ;  and  without  feeling  that  it  cannot 
be  God's  will  that  it  should  continue ;  that  it 
ought  not  by  man's  allowance  and  aid  to  con- 
tinue. But  —  not  to  dwell  in  dreams  of  future 
and  far  off  renovation  —  to  discover  what  is  to 
be  done  now,  —  Jiic  labor!  The  evil  is  so  vast, 
the  problem  so  complicated,  that  appalled  we 
ask  where  to  begin,  and  he  is  a  wise  man  who 
can  answer.  Plainly,  the  evil  will  not  grow  less 
or  the  problem  clearer.  Almsgiving,  it  is  plain, 
is  but  superficial  alleviation.  Free  education, 
doing  so  much,  does  not  reach  those  most  in 
need,  —  the  lowest,  and  that  an  increasing  class, 
—  since  of  that  the  children  are  too  useful  at 
home  to  be  spared  for  school.  Our  factories 
make  the  law  a  dead  letter. 

What  do  you  know  of  Louis  Napoleon  }     He 
once  wrote  a  book  on  pauperism,  or  some  kin- 


134  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

dred  subject,  which  shows  a  good  tendency. 
His  father  was  a  man  of  beautiful  character, 
which  Goethe  has  finely  delineated. 

...  A  letter  to-day  from ,  who  speaks  of 

himself  as  disappointed  in  his  efforts  for  a  class 
of  *'  workingmen  "  in  Boston,  and  as  feeling  much 
alone  in  the  world.  But  when  I  have  met  him, 
and  felt  anxious  to  give  him  my  sympathy  in  his 
efforts  and  hopes,  he  has  seemed  so  little  to  need 
it,  to  be  so  self-sustained  and  self-inclosed,  that 
I  have  found  myself  unable.  He  seems  to  have 
taken  on  a  "  spherical  "  condition,  and  I  cannot 
get  into  contact  with  him  any  more  than  the  hot 
crucible  with  its  drop  of  water.  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  this  were  somehow  the  secret  of  his 
ill  success  in  his  educational  efforts.  He  would 
fain  help  these  less-favored  ones,  but  he  will 
not,  or  cannot,  touch  them.  And  I  think  his 
workingmen  must  feel  as  if  there  were  a  chasm 
between  them  and  him,  in  spite  of  his  sincere 
expressions  of  interest  and  his  real  desire  to  be 
of  benefit  to  them, 

I  wish  you  would  tell  me  of  some  of  your  prac- 
tical plans  and  operations  for  the  good  of  your 
church.  I  have  little  inventive  faculty  in  this 
line. 


FALL   RIVER  1 35 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Fall  River,  February  27,  1849. 

Dear    Sam, — .  .  .  As  to  those   men  of 


you  replied  worthily.  The  fact  is,  being  just 
launched,  they  were  afraid  you  would  upset  their 
boat  if  they  took  you  on  board.  But  nothing 
can  excuse  their  letter  and  its  virtual  prohibition 
of  your  fulfilling  your  engaged  time.  O  men  of 
much  belief  and  little  faith  !  They  wish  to  build 
up  a  Unitarian  society,  and  dare  not  have  a  min- 
ister who  will  drive  anybody  away.  They  cannot 
spare  men  to  go  out  of  meeting  !  You  must  go 
where  a  free  church  is  to  be  built  up  on  the 
basis  of  life  ;  which  will  choose  a  living  minister 
before  a  comfortable  one.  Well,  courage  !  these 
wanderings  of  yours,  preaching  in  the  wilderness, 
are  not  in  vain.  Hearts  and  minds  are  stirred. 
It  is  not  lifeless  or  vain  preaching  which  brings 
such  committee-letters.  Only  I  hope  your  ser- 
mons are  scrupulously  jitst.  I  thought  Went- 
worth's,  strong,  free,  true  as  it  was,  not  entirely 
just,  since  I  doubt  not  there  were  many  men 
who  honestly  thought  (Heaven  knows  through 
what  process  of  logic  !)  that  a  vote  for  Taylor 
was  a  vote  for  freedom.  There  was  a  vast  deal 
of  dust  thrown  into  people's  eyes. 

Joshua  Swan  has  lately  preached  for  me.     His 


136  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

sermons  gave  me  a  great  deal  of  pleasure,  mainly 
from  their  complete  naturalness  and  simplicity. 
They  were  upon  quiet  topics,  charity,  little  sins  ; 
full  of  the  simplicity  of  a  cultivated  mind,  and  of 
pure  and  gentle  feeling.  His  nature  is  quiet,  and 
I  was  glad  to  see  him  true  to  it.  Contact  and 
conflict  will  give  him  more  fire.  I  long  for  the 
power  to  clothe  high  and  spiritual  ideas  in  the 
simplest,  homelike  language. 

The  1 6th  was  the  anniversary  of  my  ordina- 
tion. I  gathered  my  people  under  my  wing,  in 
the  evening,  in  a  social  meeting  at  the  parson- 
age. Some  fifty  came,  and  it  was  very  pleasant 
to  me,  and,  I  believe,  to  them.  The  Sunday 
after,  I  preached  a  brief  anniversary  sermon  to  a 
handful  of  people  in  a  snowstorm.  I  could  not 
congratulate  them  upon  an  increase  of  numbers. 
But  I  never  had  any  extravagant  hopes  as  to 
numerical  growth.  I  have  neither  the  bustling 
energy  to  bring  people  in,  nor  the  popular  ora- 
tory to  attract.  I  should  be  satisfied  with  our 
numbers  if  there  were  more  life.  I  know  that 
some  are  interested  in  my  preaching,  and  do  not 
let  myself  doubt  that  it  has  done  good,  nor  am 
I  discouraged.  But  I  feel  a  lukewarmness  and 
passivity  in  the  society  which  communicates 
itself  to  me.  At  least,  I  have  not  spiritual  life 
enough  to  outweigh   it.     However,  my  temper- 


FALL   RIVER  1 37 

ament  indicates  gradual  operation  to  be  my 
method,  and  I  hope  I  am  gaining  power  for  more 
impressive  action  by  and  by. 

With  place  and  people  personally,  I  am  well 
content.  But  I  do  not  find  myself  as  yet  taking 
deep  root  here.  .  .  .  Have  I  told  you  of  my 
Friday  evening  meetings  for  the  study  of  the 
New  Testament }  Our  numbers  have  increased 
from  two  to  half  a  dozen  and  sometimes  nine  ! 
They  are  at  my  study,  and  are  at  times  very 
interesting. 

He  early  put  his  people  to  a  simple  moral  test. 

"The  Universalist  minister  came  to  see  me 
yesterday  and  I  liked  him  ;  is  from  the  West, 
having  lived  in  Kentucky  and  Illinois.  He  has 
stentorian  lungs  —  I  heard  him  as  I  passed  his 
church  last  Sunday.  It  will  make  my  people 
stare  to  see  him  in  our  pulpit,  but  't  will  do  them 

good.     And    I    shall    not,    like ,    ask    them 

beforehand  if  they  are  willing  to  hear  a  Univer- 
salist, but  take  it  for  granted  they  have  too  much 
sense  to  object." 

He  habitually  longs  for  the  company  of  his 
friend  ;  in  almost  every  letter  he  calls  for  him  :  — 

"■  The  spring-magic  touches  even  Fall  River 
with  beauty,  and  the  houses  that  seemed  so  bare 
are  veiled  in  clouds  of  rose  color  and  white  and 


138  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

tender  green.  I  am  much  abroad  in  the  woods 
and  fields.  When  will  you  come  and  be  my  com- 
panion ?" 

As  he  writes,  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  *'  A 
preacher  is  holding  forth  in  the  hall  across  the 
street,  and  his  forlorn  tones  come  through  my 
open  windows.  Oh !  Sam,  at  times  it  comes 
over  one  that  all  this  preaching  is  terribly  spec- 
tral !  Only  the  remembrance  of  some  heart-stir- 
ring, living  words,  at  intervals  heard  from  pulpits 
in  times  past,  encourages  us  to  hope  that  we  too 
may,  at  times,  feed  others  with  something  more 
than  husks." 

.  .  .  **  Last  Sunday  I  was  at  home  in  the  morn- 
ing ;  in  the  afternoon  went  to  the  Stone  Bridge 
[a  mission  station],  and  discoursed  to  quite  a 
numerous  auditory,  for  an  hour,  upon  man  the 
child  of  God,  made  in  his  image.  '  Little  lower 
than  the  angels  '  was  my  text ;  and  the  greatness 
and  worth  of  the  human  soul,  its  divine  capacities 
and  destiny,  my  theme.  Needful  words  to  them, 
too  seldom  heard  there  before,  I  fear.  To-day 
they  have  a  Baptist  elder  from  Newport,  and  the 
Sunday  after  I  go  again.  It  was  beautiful,  as  I 
stood  in  the  pulpit,  to  look  out  through  the  win- 
dows or  the  open  door  upon  the  waters  of  the 
bay,  which  come  up  within  a  short  stone's  throw 
of  the  house. 


FALL    RLVER  I  39 

..."  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  venture  to  write 
you  or  anybody  from  Niagara.  If,  as  Emerson 
says,  *  a  great  picture  imposes  silence  '  upon  one, 
what  must  a  great  God-painting  do  }  " 

TO    EDWARD    EVERETT    HALE. 

Office  of  School  Committee, 
Fall  River,  May  9,  1849. 

I  write  in  an  interval  of  official  labors  (!),  with 
an  official  steel  pen  and  official  blue  ink.  .  .  . 
The  exclamation  point  is  not  an  ironical  tone- 
mark,  but  an  embodied  sigh  of  weariness.  Mon- 
day, yesterday,  and  to-day,  I  have  been  inces- 
santly engaged,  morning,  afternoon,  and  evening, 
examining  scholars  and  teachers,  and  a  vista  of 
work  opens  itself  through  the  rest  of  the  week 
which  convinces  me  that  I  repose  in  no  sinecure, 
for  a  time  at  least.  .  .  . 

TO    SAMUEL    JOHNSON. 

Fall  River,  May  17,  1849. 

Dear  Sam,  —  I  preached  at  Fair  Haven  Sun- 
day, having  been  incessantly  occupied  the  pre- 
ceding week  in  the  labors  of  school  committee- 
man. In  the  cars  I  met  Edward  Hale,  going  to 
New  Bedford.  So  Monday  I  brought  him  over 
here,  and  we  spent  a  pleasant  morning  basking 
in  the  sunny  fields. 


140  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

Alcott  wrote  me  a  note  of  invitation  to  the 
Town  and  Country  Club.  I  thought  your  re- 
marks on  the  club  showed  you  slightly  rabid. 
Short  of  complete  isolation,  I  can  hardly  imagine 
anything  that  would  less  limit  or  label  anybody 
than  paying  five  dollars  for  a  share  of  a  room 
where  you  might  meet  the  all-sided,  motley,  un- 
labelable  set  of  people  who  have  got  together  in 
this  club,  from  Fields  and  Whipple  to  Garrison, 
Parker,  and  Dwight.  So  don't  bristle  and  put 
out  your  quills  (or  your  pen)  against  this  harm- 
less chimaera.  ...  At  the  club  meeting  Hurl- 
but  came  out  gallantly  in  favor  of  asking  in  the 
women.  Emerson  and  Dwight  opposed,  which  I 
should  think  quite  un-Fourieritish,  Wentworth 
[Higginson]  spoke  also  in  favor  of  the  fair.  I 
hear  some  talk  of  having  Alcott  to  '*  converse  " 
here,  if  twelve  ''Trj/ev/xartKot "  can  be  found  with 
each  two  dollars  in  his  or  her  purse. 

Have  you  heard  the  Germania's  exquisite  mu- 
sic 1  I  am  going  over  to  New  Bedford  to-night 
for  the  purpose.     I  heard  them  in  Cambridge. 

TO    SAMUEL    JOHNSON. 

Fall  River,  August  26,  1S49. 
Dear  Sam,  —  How  beautiful  the  quiet  of  the 
Sunday  afternoon !     To  sit  and  hear  those  soft- 
clanging  bells  call  the  people  to   hot  churches, 


FALL   RIVER  I4I 

while  I  sit  in  a  cool  back  room  and  wait  till  the 
shadows  grow  long  before  having  to  go  out !  I 
enlarge  my  phylacteries,  and  am  to  have  this 
cool  back  room,  which  sees  only  the  morning 
sun,  besides  my  front  parlor  (no  longer  bed-rid- 
den), where  the  afternoon  rays  are  too  fervent, 
and  light  must  be  shut  out  to  keep  away  the 
heat. 

.  .  .  You  have  heard  of  my  father's  death,  in 
the  early  morning  of  the  day  I  reached  home.  It 
is  a  great  comfort  to  me  to  have  been  with  him 
[previously]  in  his  sickness,  to  render  those  little 
attentions  which  are  so  great  a  satisfaction  to 
our  hearts.  I  felt  nearer  to  him  than  I  have  ever 
done  before.  And  we  all  had  the  strongest  sense 
of  his  presence  with  us  after  he  had  left  the  body, 
a  joyful  presence,  as  of  one  from  whom  a  cloud 
had  passed  and  a  burden  fallen,  and  who  now 
stood  among  us  in  health  and  new  fife,  giving  us 
his  happy  benediction.  I  am  sure  that  sickness 
has  often  drawn  a  thicker  veil  between  him  and 
us  while  he  dwelt  in  the  flesh  than  death  has 
now  done,  which  seemed  rather  the  lifting  of  a 
veil. 

Mr.  Longfellow's  letter  on  the  occasion  of  a 
brother's  death,  which  took  place  a  year  later,  is 
fittingly  associated  here  with  the  last. 


142  SAMUEL  LOXGFELLOIV 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Portland,  September  17,  1850. 

Dear  Sam,  —  I  found  that  my  brother  had 
revived  after  they  wrote  me  ;  but  he  was  very 
sick,  and  is  daily  growing  weaker.  It  seems  im- 
possible that  he  can  continue  more  than  a  very 
few  days.  How  strangely  the  vital  powers  resist 
the  attacks  of  disease  !  Like  the  defenders  of  a 
besieged  city,  driven  from  outpost  after  outpost, 
rallying  and  retreating,  till,  shut  up  in  the  citadel, 
they  stand  at  bay  and  hold  out  still.  So  power- 
ful is  life,  so  hard  to  conquer  ;  anon,  a  slight 
obstruction,  a  pin's  prick,  and  it  is  gone  at  once  ! 
Shall  we  ever  so  know  and  obey  the  physical 
laws  that  this  bountiful  energy  shall  have  its  full 
course }  And  then  will  there  still  be  a  limit,  as 
we  are  wont  to  say,  or  will  the  thought  of  some 
prove  true,  that  '*  death  itself  shall  be  abolished  "  } 
Why  may  not  the  healthy  process  of  renewal 
endlessly  repair  the  daily  and  hourly  waste }  We 
say  the  soul  would  choose  not  to  be  confined  for- 
ever in  these  fetters  of  the  flesh,  that  its  wings 
cannot  expand  here.  But  who  has  ever  reached 
the  possibilities  of  an  earthly  expansion  }  If, 
from  year  to  year  of  man's  physical  prime,  his 
mind  enlarges  in  power  and  attainments,  who 
can  place  the  limit  to  this  enlargement,  suppos- 


FALL   RLVER  1 43 

ing  the  body  to  be  continually  renewed  ?  Who 
that  dies  oldest,  most  vigorous,  having  accom- 
plished most  of  acquaintance  with  what  this 
world  has  to  teach,  has  yet  done  more  than  begin 
a  knowledge  of  even  the  natural  world  ? 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Saco,  Maine,  October  22,  1849. 

Dear  Sam,  —  Waiting  here  at  Saco  for  the 
cars,  how  can  I  better  spend  the  rainy  hour  than 
by  resuming  my  intercourse  with  you  ? 

...  I  did  not  go  to  the  convention,  though  I 
wanted  to  hear  Weiss's  sermon  on  Inspiration.  I 
am  glad  he  took  that  subject.  I  feel  more  and 
more  that  the  great  doctrine  that  needs  to  be 
preached  into  the  ear  of  this  generation  is  the 
doctrine  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  the  word  of  the  liv- 
ing, present  God,  which  whoso  receiveth,  to  them 
it  gives  power  to  be  the  sons  of  God.  This  faith 
only  can  redeem  our  age  from  materialism.  This 
alone  can  be  —  as  it  always  has  been,  from  Jesus 
to  George  Fox  and  William  Channing  —  the 
life,  the  support,  the  strength  of  reformer,  hero, 
martyr,  saint. 

I  was  most  forcibly  struck,  the  other  day,  while 
commenting  upon  the  eighth  chapter  of  John,  to 
see  how  this  faith  in  the  real  presence  lay  at  the 
bottom  of  the  soul  of  Jesus,  coming  to  him  now 


T44  SAMUEL   LOXG FELLOW 

as  destiny:  ''He  that  sent  me  is  with  me;"  — 
now  as  consolation  in  loneliness,  misunderstand- 
ing, and  misrepresentation  :  "  I  am  not  alone  ;  " 
—  now  as  courage  to  proclaim  the  eternal  and 
divine  truth,  —  he,  an  unknown,  unlettered  youth, 
in  face  of  the  oldest  and  most  reverend  and 
most  learned  :  "  I  speak  not  from  myself,  I  speak 
the  words  of  Him  that  sent  me ; "  and  so  on. 
Taking  refuge  constantly  in  this  thought,  driven 
in  upon  it  by  outward  opposition,  and  uttering 
his  most  mystical  sayings  in  answer  to  the  cavils 
of  the  dead  -  souled  Pharisees,  —  not,  it  would 
seem,  for  their  enlightenment,  but  for  his  own 
consolation  and  encouragement. 

Sam,  we  must  try  to  live  in  this  faith.  If  God 
be  with  us,  we  need  not  fear  and  cannot  fail.  If 
we  speak  this  word,^  which  we  have  learned  of 
him,  it  cannot  but  be  victorious,  though  we  per- 
ish. And  how  attain  this  faith  }  Jesus  says  : 
"  The  Father  hath  not  left  me  alone,  because  I 
do  always  the  things  that  please  Him,"  "For  I 
came  not  to  do  my  own  will,  but  the  will  of 
Him  that  sent  me." 

TO    SAMUEL    JOHNSON. 

Fall  River,  October  31,  1S50. 
,  .  .  Think  of  our  rising  upon  the  city  of  Boston 
in  conjunction,  the  same  Sunday  !  and  —  to  drop 


FALL   RIVER  I45 

the  astronomical  figure  —  of  my  not  knowing 
you  were  there.  I  had  a  good  enough  time  at 
Chauncy  Place.  Do  you  know  that  the  church 
is  lighted  by  a  ceiling  of  subdued  glass  }  When 
this  was  put  in,  Arthur  Oilman  said  it  was  the 
first  time  he  had  ever  heard  of  trying  to  raise 
Christians  under  glass,  adding  that  he  now  knew 
what  was  meant  by  "early  Christians." 

I  tea-ed  with  Dr.  Frothingham,  who  was  kindly 
and  social.  O.  B.'s  mother  told  me  how  she  tried 
to  persuade  him  not  to  be  a  minister !  —  till  one 
day  he  came  to  her  and  told  her  that  he  viiist 
be,  when  she  ceased.  .  .  . 

Of  Jenny  Lind  and  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law 
meetings,  when  we  meet.  I  hope  this  golden 
weather  will  last  your  advent.  But  if  tempests 
lower,  we  will  have  a  cosy  talk  by  the  air-tight- 
stove-side. 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Fall  River,  December  3,  1850. 

Dear  Sam,  —  Whence  this  silence  }  Ticknor 
told  me  he  was  about  printing  a  new  edition  of  a 
certain  hymn-book,  and  I  have  sent  him  a  long 
list  of  corrections.  .  .  .  Sam,  of  one  grand  thought 
I  am  sorry  to  find  no  expression  in  our  book- — 
God's  pure- justice,  his  eternal  law  of  right.  I 
suppose  we  could  find  no  true  expression  of  it, 


146  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

most  hymns  so  wretchedly  pervert  it.  .  .  .  Have 
you  read  "  Alton  Locke  "  ?  It  is  charmingly  fresh 
and  earnest.  ...  It  is  said  to  be  by  a  Church  of 
England  minister.  If  so,  he  must  be  a  very 
liberal  one.  The  theology  is  mainly  very  good, 
with  perhaps  a  little  too  much  of  what  your 
friend  in  Nantucket  called  "Jesusism."  That  I 
do  not  understand,  do  not  get  hold  of,  wherever 

I  meet  it.  .  .  .  This  reminds  me  that called, 

Sunday  evening,  and  said  he  really  had  some 
doubts  whether  he  could  conscientiously  aid  in 
supporting  preaching  which  he  conscientiously 
felt  was  so  positively  erroneous  in  its  methods 
and  topics  as  that  of  our  Unitarian  pulpits, 
though  I  don't  think  he  finds  anything  elsewhere 
that  suits  him  better.  ...  He  is  very  sincere 
about  it,  poor  man,  and  always  frank  with  me 
and  personally  friendly,  and  I  can't  help  feeling 
that  it  is  hard  for  him  to  sit  under,  and  pay 
largely  for,  what  feeds  him  not  and  what  he 
thinks  feeds  not  others,  or  feeds  them  amiss. 
But  what  a  dreadful  state  of  spiritual  dyspepsia 
to  get  into,  is  n't  it  ? 

TO    SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

Portland,  March  17,  1851. 
Dear  Sam, — I  came  down  here  last  Thursday 
on  receiving  a  telegraphic  note   communicating 


FALL   RIVER  147 

the  sudden  death  of  my  mother ;  sudden,  but 
gentle  and  placid  ;  such  a  death  as  I  have  often 
heard  her  wish  might  be  hers,  and  a  fitting  close 
to  a  life  serene,  quiet,  loving,  and  holy. 

I  did  not  think  I  should  ever  weep  again,  at 
such  a  time  ;  but  when  I  went  at  night  to  the 
chamber  where,  through  my  childhood,  I  slept 
next  to  my  mother's,  the  remembrance  of  all  the 
loving  care  which  had  embosomed  those  years 
came  over  me  and  forced  tears  that  would  not 
be  stayed  at  once.  Now  I  have  only  the  most 
peaceful  and  happy  thoughts,  and  sweetest  sense 
of  the  presence  through  all  the  house  of  a  meek 
and  tranquil  spirit,  a  spirit  calm  and  gentle  and 
full  of  love. 

My  mother  had  long  been  an  invalid.  I  do 
not  remember  her  as  other  than  such.  We  had 
not  supposed  that  she  would  stay  here  to  number 
seventy-three  years.  But  I  know  not  how  to  be 
thankful  enough  for  the  guidance  and  influence 
of  such  a  character  and  heart  and  life.  She  was 
remarkable  for  her  piety,  —  the  simplest,  most 
unobtrusive,  most  childlike,  most  pervasive  and 
controlling  trust  in  God  ;  not  very  often  spoken 
of  in  words,  I  think,  but  always  speaking  in  the 
life  ;  in  her  daily  patience,  cheerfulness,  calmness, 
and  active  goodness  ;  in  the  devout  book  she 
loved  to  have  in  her  hand  ;    in  her  love  for  all 


148  SAMUEL   LOXGFELLOW 

things  beautiful  in  nature,  whether  in  commonest 
flower  or  the  thunderstorm,  which  I  first  learned 
not  to  fear  by  seeing  her  always  sit  at  the  window 
to  watch  its  glory. 

She  had  remarkable  calmness  and  self-posses- 
sion, —  the  fruit,  I  believe,  of  her  piety.  It  did 
not  falter  under  many  and  frequent  trials  and  sor- 
rows. I  shall  not  forget  how,  years  ago,  after 
the  death  of  my  almost  twin  sister,  she  stood 
with  me  beside  the  body  and  simply,  by  the 
cheerful  calmness  of  her  tones,  took  from  me 
the  dread  of  death.  And  severer  trials  than  the 
death  of  children  I  have  seen  her  bear  with  equal 
serenity. 

Dear  Sam,  shall  not  such  lives  say  to  us  for- 
ever, "Come  up  hither".?  such  guarding  spirits 
keep  us  ever  strong,  holy,  trustful,  and  untrem- 
bling  t 

To  Hale,  writing  on  the  same  occasion,  he 
adds  :  — 

"  One  half  of  our  circle  have  now  passed  within 
the  veil,  and  it  grows  more  and  more  transparent. 
The  Beyond  seems  not  the  Far-off,  but  a  near 
and  present  home  of  the  spirit,  filled  with  spirit- 
ual presences.  They  go  that  they  may  no  more 
be  absent." 


FALL   RIVER  1 49 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Fall  River,  June  26,  1851. 
Dear  Sam,  —  You  are  right.  The  words  of 
Jesus  are  not  yet  obsolete,  because  his  work  is 
not  yet  fulfilled.  The  Truth  comes  not  to  bring 
peace,  but  a  sword.  This  antislavery  question 
comes,  as  Christianity  came,  into  an  unbelieving 
age;  comes  judging,  dividing,  separating  family, 
church,  political  party,  precisely  because  it  is  the 
question  which  now  in  this  country  tests  the 
fidelity  and  sincerity  of  individuals,  and  church, 
and  party.  And  therefore  you  are  right  in  hold- 
ing your  ground,  feeling  that  the  question  is  one 
quite  beyond  persons.  We  do  not  doubt  what 
the  result  will  be  in  the  end.  And  the  end  will 
come  the  sooner,  and  bring  the  peace  which  shall 
endure,  the  more  faithful  every  man  is  in  his 
place.     Whether  your  friends  are  able  to  keep 

you  at ,  or  whether  you  shall  be  called  to 

another  place, — for  a  place  you  will  find  or 
make, — of  this  be  sure,  Ih.'dX  your  fidelity,  dear 
Sam,  is  bringing  on  God's  Kingdom.  If  we  can 
but  all  of  us  say,  "  Father,  glorify  Thy  name  ; 
for  this  cause  came  I  unto  this  hour  ! " 

At  the  same  time,  it  is  pleasant  if  one  can 
have  the  peace  and  fidelity,  too.  I  hope  I  have 
not  failed  in  the  latter.     I  have  spoken  plainly 


150  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

and  strongly,  and  I  know  there  are  some  in  the 
Society  who  do  not  want  to  hear  or  have  such 
preaching.  But  I  must  do  them  the  credit  to 
say  that  they  have  manifested  no  disposition  to 
interfere  or  oppose,  and  I  believe  the  majority 
of  my  Society  would  not  be  satisfied  with  a  min- 
ister who  should  be  wavering  or  wanting  in  this 
matter.  So  that  we  have  had  no  trouble  on  this 
point,  and,  so  far  as  I  know,  the  **  lukewarmness  " 
has  not  come  of  it. 

After  considerable  delay  occasioned  by  some 
legal  difficulties,  the  Society  voted  last  Tuesday 
evening  to  request  me  to  withdraw  my  resigna- 
tion, and  to  raise  eighteen  hundred  dollars  by 
tax  on  the  pews  for  repairing  and  putting  in 
order  the  house.  And  they  have  got  enough 
subscribed  to  pay  all  the  annual  expenses.  The 
crisis  called  the  people  out,  and  quite  a  strong 
personal  interest  has  been  manifested  toward 
me.  One  man,  who  does  not  go  to  church  and 
whom  I  never  spoke  to,  said  he  would  give 
'^ five  dollars  !''  rather  than  have  me  go  out  of 
town  ! 

Mr.  Longfellow's  first  settlement  was,  after 
all,  a  short  one.  He  had  discharged  the  duties 
of  his  pastorate  with  diligence  and  sympathy, 
and  with  that  unfailing  sincerity  which  made  all 


FALL   RLVER  I5I 

his  ministrations  so  fresh  and  real.  He  had 
become  interested  in  his  people ;  to  some,  much 
attached.  He  had  entered  heartily  into  the  life 
of  the  town,  engaging  actively  in  its  philanthro- 
pies, and  promoting  its  agencies  for  mental  and 
moral  improvement.  To  the  schools,  especially, 
as  a  member  and  as  chairman  of  the  school 
committee,  he  had  given  much  time  and  labor. 
Yet  a  certain  congeniality  between  himself  and 
his  position,  which  was  indispensable  to  his  hap- 
piness and  sense  of  fitness,  seems  to  have  re- 
mained wanting.  He  did  not  come  to  feel  it 
*'  his  place."  At  the  same  time  the  business 
difficulties  of  the  church  had  continued  ;  the  con- 
gregation had  not  increased  in  numbers  ;  what 
seemed  to  him  the  '*  passivity  "  of  the  people 
had  not  yielded  to  his  influence  so  visibly  as  to 
assure  him  of  the  value  of  his  work  among  them. 
As  events  showed,  there  was  injustice  to  himself 
and  to  his  true  success  in  the  discouragement 
he  came  to  feel.  ''  It  is  good  to  have  patience 
with  a  place,"  he  wrote  later,  "  and  perhaps  I  did 
not  have  enough  at  Fall  River."  But  after  much 
misgiving  as  to  his  duty,  he  offered  his  resigna- 
tion of  the  pulpit  in  the  early  summer  of  185 1. 
It  was  -received  with  warm  tokens  of  regret ; 
and,  as  intimated  in  the  last  letter,  was  declined 
by  a  nearly  unanimous  vote  of  the  Society.     His 


152  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

own  judgment,  however,  was  not  overruled  by 
the  regard  manifested,  and  he  insisted  on  with- 
drawal. 

At  about  the  same  time,  he  received  an  invita- 
tion from  a  gentleman  in  Boston  to  visit  Europe 
as  tutor  to  his  son.  The  opportunity  attracted 
him,  both  as  giving  him  a  long-coveted  privilege, 
and  as  offering  him  the  prospect  of  improving 
his  health.  He  therefore  accepted  it,  and  sailed 
for  England  in  the  autumn. 

Before  his  departure,  he  wrote  Mr.  Johnson, 
encouraging  his  friend,  who  was  also  just  leaving 
his  pulpit,  and  expressing  his  feelings  as  to  his 
own  pastorate  and  its  termination. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  says,  ''  that  your  departure 

from should  be  brought  about  in  the  manner 

it  was.     At  the  same  time,  I  have  not  felt 

to  be  just  the  place  for  you  because  there  were 
not  enough  people  there  for  your  elective  affinity 
to  choose  such  as  belong  to  you.  But  a  place 
is  awaiting  you.  No  fear  but  you  will  find  it. 
Meanwhile,  where  you  are  is  your  place,  *  heart 
within  and  God  o'erhead.'  It  is  not  pleasant  to 
uproot  even  a  year's  growth  of  attachments,  but 
it  is  as  true  now  as  it  ever  was,  that  no  man  who 
has  forsaken  brethren  and  friends,  or  lijome,  for 
the  truth's  sake,  but  shall  have  heavenly  reward. 
The  apostolic  function  is  renewed  in  every  ear- 


FALL   RIVER  1 53 

And  he  that  scattereth  is  blest  as  he 
that  reapeth." 

"  I  felt  very  sorry,"  he  continues,  "  to  leave 
Fall  River,  in  the  depressed  condition  of  the 
Society  ;  but  it  could  not  be  postponed,  and  I 
trust  to  their  finding  some  stirring  person  who 
will  really  '  build  them  up '  outwardly  without 
failing  of  true  spiritual  ministration.  I  found 
quite  a  regret  at  my  departure  on  account  of  my 
connection  with  the  schools,  where  it  seems  my 
services  were  esteemed,  though  I  did  not  know 
it.  One  thing  I  shall  have  more  faith  in  now,  — 
in  the  influence  that  may  be  exerted,  and  recog- 
nized, from  a  very  quiet  person.  I  thought  that, 
in  a  community  like  that  of  Fall  River,  a  man 
must  take  an  active  part  in  public  affairs,  be  able 
to  speak  in  public  meetings,  and  take  the  lead  in 
movements. 

"  I  have  never  regretted  that  I  went  there.  It 
has  been  a  good  thing  for  me  and  I  was  very 
independent  there.  I  should  have  been  glad  if 
it  had  proved  the  place  for  me,  for  I  do  not  like 
transplanting,  and  with  each  year  one  gains 
power  to  do  more  in  those  which  shall  follow." 


VII 

FIRST    VISIT    TO    EUROPE 

It  was  originally  intended  that  the  tour  abroad 
of  Mr.  Longfellow  and  his  pupil  should  occupy 
two  years.  But  the  youth's  health  became 
seriously  worse,  and  within  a  year  they  returned. 
Great  Britain  had  been  visited,  and  they  had 
lived  nine  months  in  Paris,  "the  place,"  wrote 
Mr.  Longfellow,  *'  which  I  cared  least  of  all  for. 
But  it  is  a  fine  spectacle,  a  spacious,  bright,  and 
picturesque  city,  a  well-dressed,  cheerful,  and 
quiet  people.  I  admire  the  varied  beauty  of  its 
streets,  the  grand  scale  of  its  public  places,  mon- 
uments, buildings  ;  the  richness  and  hospitality 
of  its  libraries,  lecture-rooms,  and  galleries  of  art. 
But  it  does  not  get  hold  of  my  enthusiasm,  and, 
after  all,  ugly  London  interests  me  more  than 
beautiful  Paris."  After  their  three  or  four  hours 
of  daily  home-study,  the  tutor  and  pupil  would 
explore  the  city  together,  seeing  its  works  of  art, 
and  searching  out  the  associations  of  its  history 
in  the  rambles  always  so  agreeable  to  Mr.  Long- 
fellow.    But  Italy  and  Germany  were  given   up, 


FIRST   VISIT  TO   EUROPE  155 

and  they  returned  home  with  some  disappoint- 
ment, after  a  year  which,  to  the  elder  of  the  two, 
had  been,  as  he  felt,  "  little  more  than  a  wasted 
one,"  except  for  some  physical  reinvigoration. 

Mr.  Longfellow's  letters  from  abroad  were 
naturally  interesting  and  graceful,  but  those 
scenes  are  now  so  familiar  that  no  extracts  are 
here  made  from  his  correspondence.  His  Euro- 
pean tour  was  but  the  first  of  several,  most  of 
them  more  delightful  and  profitable  to  him  than 
the  first. 


VIII 

CANDIDATING    AGAIN 

The  thread  of  Mr.  Longfellow's  correspond- 
ence with  Mr.  Johnson  is  taken  up  in  the  fol- 
lowing letter,  which  intimates  his  mode  of  life 
for  a  period  of  somewhat  more  than  a  year. 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Canton,  December  26,  1852. 

Dear  Sam,  —  If  writing  a  letter  be  a  meritori- 
ous work,  as  I  sometimes  fancy,  in  the  present  in- 
stance, at  least,  I  shall  claim  no  credit ;  for  I  am 
fairly  driven  to  it  by  lack  of  any  other  way  of 
spending  my  evening.  I  am  as  effectually  cut  off 
from  the  usual  resources  of  social  intercourse  as 
if  I  were  in  that  veritable  Canton  where  all  talk 
is  Chinese,  and  all  books  are  printed  in  perpen- 
dicular columns  of  undecipherable  characters. 
At  this  Massapoag  House  I  exhausted  the  news- 
papers last  evening,  and  find  no  book  except 
Hoyle's  Games,  never  very  edifying  to  me,  and 
especially  improper  for  Sunday  reading.  My 
solitude  is  unbroken  by  any  visitant.     No  hearer 


■      CANDIDA  TIXG  AGADV  1 57 

of  to-day  comes  to  thank  me  for  thought  or  spir- 
itual impulse  imparted  ;  no  Cantonian  lay-mon- 
itor to  unfold  the  true  theory  of  preaching ;  not 
even  the  parish  treasurer  with  his  rumpled  ten 
dollar  bill,  —  the  faithful  preacher's  reward.  For- 
tunately, when  I  forgot  to  put  a  book  into  my 
Sunday  parcel,  I  did  not  omit  my  little  cylindrical 
writing  case,  and  in  these  desperate  circumstances 
I  turn  to  it,  and  in  my  solitude  to  you.  .  .  . 

A  call  to  preach  at  Bridgewater  gave  me  an 
opportunity  I  wanted  to  visit  the  friends  at  Fall 
River  and  New  Bedford  ;  to  the  former  place  I 
wended  on  the  Monday  morning,  and  so  warmly 
was  I  welcomed,  and  so  urged  to  stay  and  so 
invited  to  dinner  and  tea,  that  I  did  not  get  away 
to  New  Bedford  till  Saturday  morning ;  being 
obliged  to  withstand  manfully  all  entreaties  to 
stay  and  preach.  I  found  the  outward  and  visi- 
ble church  with  its  horn  verily  exalted, — liter- 
ally, inasmuch  as  the  pinnacle,  which  lay  so 
forlornly  prostrate  and  shattered  when  I  left,  has 
been  picked  up  and  restored  to  its  proper  place  ; 
and  figuratively,  since  various  needful  repairs  and 
alterations  and  paintings  had  been  accomplished. 
The  exterior  has  assumed  a  fearful  but  popular 
chocolate  color  called  freestone  ;  the  inside  dreary 
blankness  of  white  wall  is  warmed  into  a  neutral 
tint   more   agreeable    to    the    eye.     I  found  the 


158  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

"■  new  incumbent "  taking  hold  quite  vigorously 
of  these  externals,  —  he  said  the  spiritual  things 
must  next  be  looked  after.  .  .  .  His  wife  is  much 
liked,  and  does  wonders  in  visiting,  etc. ;  and 
both  were  very  friendly  me-ivards.  .  .  . 

Since,  I  have  been  at  Cambridge,  have  preached 
at  Woburn,  have  seen  Clough,  author  of  the 
^'Bothie,"  who  has  come  over  here  to  live,  hav- 
ing had  to  give  up  his  fellowship  because  un- 
willing to  take  orders  in  the  English  Church  ; 
and  heard  Thackeray's  lecture  on  Congreve  and 
Addison,  —  a  pleasant  piece  of  literary  criticism, 
touching  lightly  and  brightly  along  the  surface, 
but  not  sounding  any  depths  ;  with  a  pleasant 
voice  and  quiet,  gestureless  delivery. 


IX 

THE    BROOKLYN    PASTORATE 

As  a  religionist  and  moralist,  Samuel  Longfel- 
low was  a  typical  product  of  the  transcendental 
awakening.  The  influences  of  that  movement 
reached  his  receptive  nature  at  a  formative  pe- 
riod, and  found  in  it  material  peculiarly  conge- 
nial. "He  was,"  says  Colonel  Higginson,  ''  one  of 
the  most  consistent  of  its  representatives,  never 
having  gone  through  contradictory  and  wavering 
phases  as  many  others  of  us  did.  But  this  very 
fact  shows  the  strength  that  lay  beneath  that 
gentle  mien."  Certainly  it  was  always  charac- 
teristic of  Mr.  Longfellow  that  truth  which  he 
accepted  entered  into  the  structure  of  his  mind, 
and  was  thenceforth  an  integral  part  of  his  in- 
tellectual and  spiritual  being.  Born  into  the 
clear  but  un stimulating  atmosphere  of  the  older 
Unitarianism,  his  mind,  peculiarly  sensitive  to 
religious  impressions,  accepted  quietly  but  ear- 
nestly its  simple  theological  conceptions,  as  it 
did  the  moral  principles  of  the  upright  but  un- 
aggressive people   among  whom  he  was  reared. 


l6o  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

The  Unitarian  Christianity  of  his  early  days  had 
laid  aside  the  absurd  and  revolting  features  of 
New  England  Calvinism,  —  a  triune  God ;  the 
original  depravity  of  man  ;  the  eternity  of  punish- 
ment ;  vicarious  redemption,  —  but  it  retained, 
naturally,  the  general  conception  of  the  relations 
of  Deity  and  humanity  which  underlay  all  Chris- 
tian creeds.  God  was  a  Being  of  love.  The 
nature  of  man  was  good,  not  evil,  —  although 
individual  men  were  indeed  weak  and  erring. 
The  earthly  life  was  a  period  of  probation,  of 
which  another  stage  of  being  would  register  the 
results,  in  joy  or  pain,  according  to  a  strict,  if 
merciful,  equity.  Character  was  the  principal 
thing.  Distrusting  elaborate  doctrinal  schemes, 
the  Unitarians  read  the  Gospels  with  more 
sympathy  and  satisfaction  than  the  Epistles,  and 
turned  to  them  for  guidance  in  life  and  conduct, 
relying  confidently  on  Divine  Goodness  to  direct 
in  benevolence  the  issues  of  existence.  They 
recognized  in  Jesus  a  Saviour,  but  this  chiefly 
through  the  example  of  his  conduct,  the  inspira- 
tions of  his  character,  and  the  lessons  of  his  lips  ; 
and  they  accepted  from  these  an  influence  which, 
on  the  moral  side  at  least,  was  marked  and 
gracious.  Orthodoxy  freely  testified  to  the  per- 
sonal rectitude  which  was  its  result. 

But  in  their  general  view  of  divine  things,  as 


THE  BROOKLYN  PASTORATE  i6l 

in  that  of  the  Orthodox,  Deity  remained,  in  effect, 
for  the  Unitarians,  a  sovereign,  outside  creation, 
directing  the  affairs  of  the  world  not  only  by 
influences  upon  the  hearts  and  consciences  of 
men,  but  by  revelations  through  the  words  of 
formal  Scriptures,  and  by  commissioned  dele- 
gates, —  above  all,  by  Christ,  his  Son.  The 
latter  was,  indeed,  not  Deity,  nor  had  the  Unita- 
rians a  clear  and  long-tenable  philosophy  of  his 
nature.  The  human  element  in  Jesus  was  gain- 
ing steadily  in  effective  recognition.  But  he  was 
the  highest  of  God's  creatures,  and  was  deemed 
by  most  of  the  sect  to  have  been  preexistent  to 
the  actual  order  of  things.  While  human,  he 
was  also  of  divine  quality,  and  he  was  authenti- 
cated to  his  brethren  as  God's  emissary  by  the 
miracles  which  he  wrought,  and  especially  by  his 
own  resurrection  and  ascension.  He  would  be, 
in  some  sort,  their  judge,  as  he  was  their  exem- 
plar. But  he  was  imitable ;  it  was  possible  to 
follow  him,  for  man  was  by  nature  good  and  of 
free  will  as  to  conduct  and  motive.  The  suprem- 
acy of  the  reason  the  Unitarians  also,  and  espe- 
cially, asserted  ;  yet  they  too  often  effectively, 
and  half  -  unconsciously,  limited  its  sphere  of 
action  to  the  interpretation  of  the  revelation  of 
fact  and  truth  which  they  assumed  as  existent  in 
the  Bible. 


1 62  SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW 

Conceptions  and  principles  like  these,  too 
largely  intellectual,  it  may  be,  yet  held  with 
real  fervor  of  conviction,  and  often  made  very 
gracious  in  the  faith  of  the  Unitarian  people, 
of  pious  clergymen  like  Dr.  Nichols,  and  saintly 
women  like  his  own  beloved  mother,  Samuel 
Longfellow  brought  with  him  to  the  Divinity 
School,  little  modified  by  the  experiences  of 
college  training,  as  the  outfit  of  his  religious  life. 

But  about  the  time  our  youth  left  his  home, 
new  voices  began  to  be  in  the  air.  Channing, 
indeed,  had  largely  prepared  the  way  for  a  new 
order  of  conceptions  by  his  magnificent  vindica- 
tion of  the  dignity  of  human  nature.  European 
thinkers  and  scholars  were  suggesting  new  prin- 
ciples in  philosophy,  and  new  methods  in  criti- 
cism. The  nature  of  the  Bible  was  beginning  to 
be  differently  explained.  Its  origin  was  inquired 
into  and  its  contents  scrutinized  more  carefully. 
Its  miraculous  element  was  questioned,  and  by 
some  referred  to  myth.  The  mind  of  New  Eng- 
land was  being  leavened  and  emancipated  by  the 
thought  of  Emerson.  "The  Transient  and  Per- 
manent in  Christianity  "  were  examined  and  for- 
cibly contrasted  by  a  fearless  iconoclast.  Some 
among  the  Unitarian  ministers  were  soon  preach- 
ing, quite  freely,  on  natural  principles  of  inquiry 
into  truth.     The  title  "humanitarian"  began  to 


THE  BROOKLYN  PASTORATE  163 

be  applied  to  a  small  number  who  asserted  the 
nature  of  Jesus  to  be  that  of  manhood,  simply. 
A  school  of  thinkers  presently  arose  who  de- 
clared of  the  prevailing  theological  view  that  the 
whole  current  conception  of  the  relations  subsist- 
ing between  God  and  man,  so  mechanical  and 
arbitrary,  was  unfounded  and  impossible.  God 
is  not  outside  the  world,  they  declared,  a  mon- 
arch and  law-giver.  He  is  in  the  world.  He  is 
the  world  and  all  that  exists.  All  things,  all 
beings,  are  in  Him.  Man's  relation  to  Him  is 
immediate,  depending  for  the  knowledge  of  it 
only  on  the  individual's  power  of  apprehending 
spiritual  Deity,  of  coming  into  conscious  com- 
munion with  Him.  He  is  not  a  great  person- 
age, afar  off  on  high.  He  is  Infinite  Spirit,  all- 
present  Being.  He  is  the  ''Over-Soul,"  "above 
all,  through  all,  in  all."  The  truer  symbols  of 
Him,  or  metaphors  of  his  relation  to  human 
spirits,  are  the  circumambient  atmosphere,  invad- 
ing every  aperture  ;  the  all-pervasive  light,  illum- 
inating every  crevice  of  nature ;  ocean's  vast 
flood,  pressing  with  each  tide  into  all  the  rivers, 
creeks,  or  smallest  rills  that  open  to  receive  it. 
Man  is  God's  microcosm,  divine  as  He  is  divine, 
being  his  offspring.  In  man's  self  are  all  the 
laws  of  his  being  and  life,  and  there  to  be  studied.. 
Know    thyself,    and   thou    knowest    all    things. 


164  SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW 

Virtue  is  health  of  soul.  Rectitude  is  truth  to 
self.  Man  needs  no  outward,  formal  revelation, 
nor  is  any  such  possible  or  conceivable.  The 
Spirit  expresses  itself  spiritually.  Man  requires 
only  to  become  plastic  to  the  ever-present  influ- 
ences of  God.  Thus  he  receives  all  truth  and  is 
helped  to  all  progress.  Jesus  of  Nazareth  was 
no  specially  created  or  endowed  messenger  from 
God.  He  was  only  a  child  of  God  who  had 
attained  his  proper  heritage.  He  was  the  ideal 
man,  type  of  mankind,  become  such  through 
entering  into  perfect  harmony  with  himself  and 
God.  If  he  wrought  miracles,  they  were  only 
wondrous  manifestations  of  the  working  of  laws, 
wholly  normal,  but  inaccessible  to  impure  or 
undeveloped  souls.  The  church  is  the  company 
of  God's  faithful  ones,  in  every  clime,  who  know 
Him  and  are  banded  together  for  his  worship 
and  service,  —  which  is  the  service  of  truth  and 
humanity. 

Into  conceptions  like  these,  much  of  the  best 
and  most  active  spiritual  life  of  the  time  was 
rising.  They  modified  deeply  the  sentiments  of 
many  who  could  not  wholly  break  with  the  beliefs 
in  which  they  had  been  trained.  But  the  change 
was  slow,  and  especially  to  the  well-established 
image  of  Jesus  as  the  Christ,  men  and  women 
clung  with  tenderest  fidelity.    Samuel  Longfellow 


THE  BROOKLYN  PASTORATE  165 

parted  very  gradually  with  the  forms  of  thought 
and  the  pietistic  associations  which  he  brought 
with  him  from  his  home.  In  the  Divinity  School, 
he  says,  his  views  were  more  conservative  than 
those  of  Johnson.  It  was  chiefly  that  the  cast 
of  his  mind  was  more  sentimental  and  idealistic  ; 
that  of  his  friend  more  purely  intellectual.  His 
growth  was  slower  than  that  of  many  of  his 
companions,  and,  as  Colonel  Higginson  has  said, 
more  steady,  without  reactions.  It  was  less  con- 
scious, because  it  was  less  by  the  intellectual  and 
formal  recognition  of  truth,  with  consequent  con- 
viction, and  more  an  assimilation  of  it  which 
made  it  a  part  of  himself.  His  relation  to  Jesus 
was  always  that  of  a  frank  loyalty,  full  of  venera- 
tion and  admiring  love,  which  never  varied  or 
waned.  He  retained,  as  we  have  already  seen, 
through  some  years  of  his  ministry,  the  Chris- 
tian phraseology  and  Christian  associations,  and 
valued  and  used  the  Christian  rites.  As  his 
views  became  more  distinctly  theistic,  he  gave  to 
these  traditions  of  Christianity  new  interpreta- 
tions, which  sufficed  him  long,  but  they  became 
at  last  insufficient,  and  were  gradually  disused. 
Of  his  preaching  at  Fall  River  there  appear  to 
remain  few  relics.  But,  during  that  period,  and 
the  year  or  two  of  repose  and  reflection  which 
succeeded    it,    his    mind   evidently  developed   in 


1 66  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

power,  and  his  thought  gained  clearness  and  con- 
sistency. When  Mr.  Longfellow  took  up  his 
Brooklyn  pastorate  he  was  in  full  possession  of 
his  religious  point  of  view.  His  thought  was 
henceforth  only  to  expand  according  to  its  own 
well-established  principles. 

In  January,  1853,  he  writes  thus  to  Johnson, 
from  his  beloved  Portland  :  .  .  .  "  After  a  month's 
wanderings,  I  had  just  come  home,  thinking  to 
rest  awhile  under  the  old  roof.  But  I  have  de- 
cided to  take  the  week  between  two  Sundays 
with  Higginson,  at  Worcester,  for  the  purpose  of 
doing  up  the  business  of  the  seaside  book  ['  Tha- 
latta'],  which  I  want  to  have  over,  it  seems  so 
trifling  a  thing  to  have  one's  thoughts  busy 
about  in  these  days.  But  for  old  love's  sake,  I 
would  not  have  undertaken  it. 

..."  I  find  myself  very  much  unsettled,  both 
as  to  plans  for  the  future  and  doings  for  the 
present.  The  idea  flits  before  me  that  I  may  go 
abroad  again  in  the  spring,  to  complete  my  tour. 
Sometimes  I  think  of  a  free  church  somewhere. 
And  then  of  a  regular  settlement  in  some  pleas- 
ant town,  with  a  gothic  church  and  a  parsonage. 
Sometimes  I  want  to  make  a  tour  through  our 
own  country,  visiting  prisons  and  reform-schools, 
and  sometimes  dream  of  getting  myself  made 
chaplain  in  one  of  the  latter,  thus  combining  the 


THE   BROOKLYN  PASTORATE  1 67 

satisfaction  of  my  philanthropic  and  philo-paedian 
propensities. 

**  Meanwhile  nothing  is  accomplished  save  stray 
Sunday  preachings.  I  was  last  at  W.  I  stayed 
with  a  man  who  talked  of  the  *  indigenuous 
products '  of  the  country,  and  of  the  abundance 
of  *  empherial  publications.'  He  said  that  in 
one  thing  S.  was  very  unlike  me, —  it  was  very 
easy  to  follow  him  in  his  preaching !  He  re- 
ferred, Sam,  to  a  sermon  of  the  simplest  sort  on 
Quiet  from  God  !  Has  B.  sent  you  a  copy  of 
his  book.?  He  hopes  it  may  '  save  some  congre- 
gation from  the  torttcre  of  listening  to  the  theo- 
ries, the  experience^  or  the  moral  wisdom  of  the 
man  who  stands  in  their  pulpit,'  etc.,  etc. 

"  To  such  words  what  can  I  venture  to  add  } 
I  shrink  into  initials  and  scarce  venture  to  sign 
myself  S.  L." 

From  these  uncertainties  and  crudities  Mr. 
Longfellow  was  soon  to  be  relieved  by  coming 
into  the  presence  of  the  most  important  portion 
of  his  life-work.  During  the  next  month,  Febru- 
ary, 1853,  he  mentions  that  he  is  to  preach  for 
two  Sundays  at  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  where  he  seems 
to  have  preached  once  very  soon  after  his  return 
from  Europe  in  the  preceding  autumn.  But  he 
hopes  the  church  at  Brooklyn  will  call  Johnson, 


1 68  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

whom  he  thanks  for  urging  them  to  hear  him- 
self. "  Sam,  do  go  to  Brooklyn,  if  they  ask  you. 
It  is  such  a  place  as  you  ought  to  be  in.  I  don't 
know  about  that  Society  especially,  but  there 
must  be  a  good  element  in  it  since  they  invited 

Just  a  month  later,  March  7,  1853,  he  writes: 
"  I  ought  not  to  have  let  you  learn  first  from 
the  papers  that  the  Brooklyn  committee  asked 
me  to  come  again  for  six  months,  I  said  I  would, 
with  the  understanding  that  I  might  leave  sooner 
if  I  chose.  I  had  really  hoped  they  would  ask 
you.  But  they  are  not  yet  ready  for  your  strong 
meat.  These  babes  in  grace  must  be  fed  with 
milk  awhile.  I  shall  try,  at  any  rate,  to  make  it 
*  smcere  milk,'  Sam.  ...  I  don't  see  how  they 
are  to  be  satisfied  with  my  preaching,  after  yours. 
But  it  was  thought  that  I,  in  some  sort,  united, 
or  might  unite,  the  two  wings.  ...  It  seems 
plain  that  the  liberal  party  has  the  preponder- 
ance, and  I  am  glad  of  that.  .  .  .  As  to  a  perma- 
nent settlement,  I  had,  and  have,  some  doubts, 
first,  whether  I  should  be  content  to  live  in 
so  decidedly  a  city  place  ;  secondly,  whether  I 
should  do  for  the  place.  I  am  so  quiet  a  person, 
have  so  little  of  the  *  popular '  qualities  ;  am  so 
little  calculated  to  lead  a  '  movement,'  —  to  make 
any  eclat.     Starr  King  seemed  rather  to  be  their 


rHE   BROOKLYN  PASTORATE  169 

ideal,  and  I  am  far  enough  from  that  type.  But 
I  thought  it  might  be  good  for  me  to  be  thrown 
into  a  position  making  greater  demands  upon  me. 
I  may  develop  some  new  phases  ;  at  any  rate,  I 
shall  test  myself.  An  arrangement  for  a  few 
months  was,  therefore,  what  I  wanted.  .  .  . 

"  Brooklyn  is  certainly  a  handsome  city,  and  in 
the  summer  its  neighborhood  must  be  charming." 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Brooklyn,  Tuesday,  April  19,  1853. 

Dear  Sam,  —  Just  five  words  to  say  that  I  am 
in  Brooklyn,  and  ready  to  receive  communica- 
tions. .  .  . 

I  "opened"  with  a  rainy  Sunday, — a  storm 
from  the  East ;  not  symbolical,  surely,  of  my 
coming,  —  and  in  the  old  lecture-room,  which, 
after  all,  suited  me  well  enough,  who  like  to 
slip  in  quietly  everywhere.  Next  Sunday  we 
expand  into  the  new  hall  of  the  Athenaeum,  of 
whose  size  and  consequent  emptiness  I  am  rather 
afraid,  remembering  how  we  were  crushed  at 
Fall  River  by  our  vacant  whiteness.  Sunday 
morning,  Sam,  I  woke  up  the  veriest  coward.  I 
was  sure  that  I  never  could  do  the  work  that 
was  wanted  and  expected  here.  I  wondered 
why  I  had  ever  come.  I  was  almost  ready  to 
run  away  and  hide  myself  in  the  littlest  village 


I70  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

I  could  find.  But  when  I  went  to  the  hall  I 
found  friendly  faces,  and  felt  drawn  toward  the 
people  ;  kindly  greetings  followed,  and  by  night 
I  was  cheered  and  hopeful.  But  I  foresee  many 
such  alternations. 

Four  days  later,  Mr.  Longfellow  delivered  his 
noble  sermon  on  *'  The  Word  Preached,"  to 
which  he  refers  in  the  following  letter.  The 
function  and  true  position  of  the  pulpit  were 
never,  perhaps,  more  forcibly,  yet  discriminat- 
ingly, exhibited  and  vindicated. 

TO   SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Brooklyn,  May  i8,  1853. 

Dear  Sam,  —  I  am  glad  we  published  "Tha- 
latta  "  because  it  brought  me  a  letter  from  you. 
Do  you  know  how  inexcusably  silent  you  have 
been  ?  I  really  began  to  have  alarms  as  to  possi- 
ble causes.  But  who  gave  you  such  extravagant 
statements  about  "  crowds  in  the  new  hall "  } 
There  are  some  seats  left  yet !  Still,  the  attend- 
ance is  encouraging,  both  morning  and  —  after- 
noon. Yes,  I  could  not  get  the  evening  service ; 
but  I  think  that  during  the  hot  months  we  shall 
have  but  one. 

As  to  *'  popularity  "  I  cannot  say.  One  thing 
I  know,  I  do  not  seek  it.   .  .  .  As  far  as  I  can 


THE  BROOKLYN  PASTORATE  171 

judge  from  my  imperfect  acquaintance  with  the 
Society,  it  means  to  place  itself  decidedly  upon 
liberal  and  progressive  ground.  On  our  going 
into  the  new  hall  I  preached  a  sermon  upon  the 
true  position  of  the  pulpit,  especially  in  respect 
to  free  inquiry  in  theology  and  to  reforms  in 
society ;  and  another  upon  the  true  Unity,  to  be 
sought  not  in  form  or  creed,  but  in  the  Spirit, 
urging  the  society  to  take  its  position  distinctly 
on  the  ground  of  absolute  freedom  ;  and  I  was 
glad  to  find  they  were  willing  to  take  this  plat- 
form. At  least,  they  wanted  to  print  the  ser- 
mons, and  one  gentleman  who  had  been  consid- 
ered most  conservative  was  most  strenuous  in 
this  behalf.  Perhaps  you  think  that  suspicious. 
I  can't  help  it !  I  don't  try  to  "  please  both 
sides,"  you  know.  I  suppose  my  natural  position 
is  a  mesothesis.  I  sometimes  wish  I  had  more 
''  excess  of  direction,"  as  Emerson  calls  it,  and 
more  enthusiasm.  But  I  will  not  leave  people 
in  doubt  on  which  side  my  sympathies  are. 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Brooklyn,  June  16,  1853. 

Dear  Sam,  —  ...  At  Cambridge  was  a 
pleasant  dinner  where  Emerson,  Hawthorne, 
Lowell,  Clough,  and  Charles  Norton  were  the 
guests.   .  .  . 


17:^  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

I  did  not  get  a  sight  of  the  celebrated  A.  U.  A. 
Report ;  I  fancy  it  was  but  a  statement  of  the 
basis  upon  which  the  Association  will  carry  on 
its  operations,  and  of  no  bearing  upon  those 
out  of  the  Association,  —  not  even  a  creed  of 
the  denomination.  My  own  connection  with  the 
Unitarian  body  is  so  slight  as  hardly  to  be  worth 
the  breaking.  But,  as  you  know,  my  real  affini- 
ties are  with  the  free  men  and  churches.  I  want 
it  to  be  so  with  my  Society,  and  therefore  wish 
they  had  not  the  name  Unitarian.  I  shall  ask 
them  to  change  it,  if  I  remain  ;  but  it  is  not  a 
point  upon  which  I  could  insist.  .  .  . 

TO    SAMUEL    JOHNSON. 

Brooklyn,  June  29,  1853. 

Dear  Sam,  — ...  I  went  to  Cambridge,  and 
these  good  people  took  advantage  of  my  absence 
to  give  me  a  call.  I  have  not  yet  been  able  to 
make  up  my  mind.  While  everything  about  the 
position  of  the  Society  is  attractive  and  encour- 
aging, I  feel  a  strange  want  of  energy  and  enthu- 
siasm for  the  undertaking. 

I  have  been  physically  out  of  sorts  since  I  have 
been  here.  .  .  .  So,  personally,  I  don't  feel  a 
great  desire  to  stay. 


THE   BROOKLYN  PASTOR  ATE  173 

TO    SAMUEL    JOHNSON. 

Portland,  September  15,  1853. 

Dear  Sam,  — .  .  .  I  have  stayed  all  summer 
through  at  Brooklyn,  save  a  run  to  the  seashore 
now  and  then  ;  the  hot  days  I  fled  to  lovely  Fort 
Hamilton,  which  you  remember.  ...  Our  good 
people  at  B.  were  just  beginning  to  come  back 
from  summerings  when  I  left  last  Friday. 

They  talk  of  an  Installation.  Will  you  not 
come  on  }  I  will  have  a  "right  hand,"  if  you  will. 
And  do  write  me  a  hymn,  won't  you  .^  I  should 
have  dispensed  with  the  Installation,  as  seeming 
superfluous,  but  they  have  never  had  a  minister 
ordained  unto  thern,  and  I  said  I  should  leave  it 
to  their  wish. 

TO    SAMUEL    JOHNSON. 

Brooklyn,  September,  1853. 

Dear  Sam,  — ...  The  Installation  is  to  take 
place  the  last  Wednesday  of  October.  Furness 
is  asked  for  the  sermon,  but  has  not  yet  replied. 
Can  7  you  come  on  .^  .  .  .  Some  have  proposed 
that  the  "right  hand"  should  be  given  by  the 
president  of  the  Society,  which  idea  I  like,  but 
I  do  not  know  what  will  be  decided.  There 
was  some  hope  of  a  liberal  Orthodox  minister 
of  Brooklyn  being  inveigled  into  assisting,  —  not 


174  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

Beecher   but    Marsh   is    his  name.     Then,  with 
Chapin,  we  shall  not  be  quite  Unitarianized. 

The  Installation  was  celebrated  on  the  evening 
of  Wednesday,  October  26,  1853.  The  manner 
of  it  was  more  conventional  than  the  new  pastor 
would  have  chosen,  who  always  distrusted  things 
formal,  and  would  have  preferred  a  simple  service 
of  welcome  and  recognition  in  which  he  and  his 
people  should  chiefly  participate,  with  perhaps, 
for  personal  reasons,  a  few  of  his  dear  radical 
friends.  But  for  this  the  Society  was,  naturally, 
not  quite  ready.  It  was  in  the  usual  order  of 
things  that  in  this  first  important  occasion  of 
their  history  the  neighboring  Unitarian  churches 
and  ministers  should  chiefly  share.  Mr.  Johnson 
was  unable  to  accept  the  invitation  of  the  Society 
to  attend,  nor  did  he  send  the  hymn  which  had 
been  so  earnestly  besought  by  his  friend  from 
his  reluctant  muse.  Another  friend  of  Divinity 
School  days,  William  Henry  Hurlbut,  who  had 
recently  relinquished  the  pulpit  through  the 
changes  of  sentiment  prevalent  at  this  time,  was 
represented  in  a  hymn ;  but  among  those  who 
took  part  in  the  services,  only  Rev.  Dr.  Furness, 
the  preacher  of  the  evening,  and,  probably.  Rev. 
John  Parkman,  of  Staten  Island,  who  read  Scrip- 
ture selections,  were  peculiarly  in  sympathy  with 


THE  BROOKLYN  PASTORATE  1 75 

Mr.  Longfellow's  characteristic  views.  The  other 
clergymen  participating  were  Rev.  Samuel  Os- 
good, of  New  York ;  Rev.  Frederick  A.  Farley, 
D.  D.,  of  Brooklyn,  who  offered  respectively  the 
introductory  prayer  and  that  of  installation  ;  Rev. 
Henry  W.  Bellows,  of  New  York,  who  gave  the 
right  hand  of  fellowship ;  Rev.  E.  H.  Chapin, 
of  the  Universalist  Church  of  New  York,  who 
addressed  the  people  ;  and  Rev.  William  Hall,  of 
Ireland,  who  closed  the  services  with  prayer.  Mr. 
Longfellow  composed  for  this  service  his  beauti- 
ful hymn  "  In  the  beginning  was  the  Word." 

Thus  was  formally  cemented  a  union  which 
was  to  become  a  very  close  and  perfect  one. 
Hitherto  the  Society,  organized  within  only 
three  years,  had  acquired  no  marked  character 
of  its  own.  There  were  present  in  it  the  two 
tendencies  at  that  time  found  in  all  Unitarian 
churches,  —  sometimes  painfully  struggling  with 
each  other,  —  the  conservative  and  the  radical ; 
and  of  these  the  latter  had  scarcely  the  pre- 
ponderance. The  congregation  had,  within  the 
two  and  a  half  years  of  its  existence,  united  in 
very  urgently  calling  a  man  so  typically  conser- 
vative as  Andrew  R  Peabody  (who  had  just  re- 
ceived the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Divinity,  which 
was  to  become  so  familiar  in  connection  with  his 
venerated  name).     They  had  also  called  James 


176  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

Freeman  Clarke,  Horatio  Stebbins,  and  Stan- 
King,  all  men  of  marked  ability  and  elevated 
character,  but  neither  of  them  of  the  radical 
and  idealistic  temper  of  Samuel  Longfellow,  — 
although  Clarke  in  matters  of  social  reform  was 
equally  advanced  and  earnest,  and  even  more 
aggressive  than  he.  But  the  aspirations  of  the 
Society  were  shown  in  their  seeking  among  such 
men  for  their  pastor,  and  there  were  in  it  a  con- 
siderable number  of  men  and  women  of  superior 
intelligence  and  strong  traits,  who  were  distinctly 
progressive  in  their  tendencies  of  thought,  and 
ready  to  welcome  and  promote  their  new  pastor's 
transcendental  views. 

When  Mr.  Longfellow  began  his  temporary 
engagement,  the  Society  was  worshiping  in  a 
small  and  rather  dismal  hall.  Its  numbers  also 
were  small,  but  there  were  warmth  and  hope, 
and  the  new  minister  won  his  way  rapidly  to  the 
hearts  of  his  people.  His  preaching  attracted 
much  attention  by  its  originality  and  vigor,  di- 
rectness and  simplicity,  and  especially  by  its 
spiritual  quality  and  its  moral  elevation.  In  the- 
ology he  took,  from  the  outset,  a  distinctly  radi- 
cal position.  Not  wholly  disusing,  as  yet,  the 
Christian  phraseology  or  the  Christian  rites,  he 
preached  a  pure  theism,  in  which  the  associ- 
ations  of   Christianity  held   their  place   only  as 


THE  BROOKLYN  PASTORATE  IJJ 

illustrative  of  universal  religion.  He  pretended 
little  loyalty  to  the  Unitarian  denomination,  to 
which  he  had,  indeed,  never  manifested  much 
of  the  spirit  of  allegiance  since  his  mind  began 
to  unfold.  Rather,  on  principle  as  by  personal 
constitution,  he  was  distinctly  and  strongly  averse 
to  organized  methods  in  religion.  He  worked 
best  and  most  happily  by  himself,  and  could  not 
endure  even  the  light  harness  of  Unitarian  as- 
sociations, now  growing  lighter  daily.  But  the 
friction  was  already  great  in  the  Unitarian  body ; 
quite  a  number  of  the  most  promising  of  its 
younger  clergy  were  breaking  away  from  it ;  and 
more  troublous  times  were  to  come.  It  was 
not  unreasonable,  in  one  whose  convictions  were 
already  so  distinctly  formed,  to  prefer  an  inde- 
pendent position.  Mr.  Longfellow  would  gladly 
have  had  his  society  take  such  a  stand  as  John- 
son's "Free  Church"  had  just  done,  at  Lynn, 
and  that  which  his  other  friend,  Higginson,  had 
just  established  at  Worcester.  Justly  or  unjustly 
the  Unitarian  name  signified  to  him  not  freedom, 
but  restriction,  and  the  attitude  of  organized 
Unitarianism  appeared  sectarian.  The  question 
between  individualism  and  association  in  reli- 
gious action  has  not  yet  been  settled,  and  is  not 
likely  to  be  for  some  generations  to  come.  At 
least  in  1853,  the  position  of  its  self-made  exiles 


178  SAMUEL   LOiYG FELLOW 

was  not  wholly  unjust,  although  a  more  hope- 
ful and  conciliatory  temper  might  have  induced 
some  of  them  to  refrain  from  seeking  personal 
ease,  at  the  cost  of  weakening  the  structure  of  a 
religious  body  in  which  alone  there  was  then  any 
promise  of  realizing  the  liberal  principle  in  organ- 
ized relations. 

The  Second  Society  of  Brooklyn,  very  natu- 
rally, did  not  assent  to  their  pastor's  suggestion 
that  they  should  drop  the  Unitarian  name  and 
connection.  He  did  not  feel  it  a  vital  point,  how- 
ever, and  their  relations  began  in  a  happiness 
which  was  only  to  grow  as  the  too  few  years  of 
their  connection  lasted.  In  his  quiet  way,  he  pro- 
ceeded with  the  presentation  of  his  positive  views 
in  religion  and  ethics,  and  very  rapidly  and  per- 
manently he  impressed  upon  his  church  those 
moral  and  spiritual  characteristics  which  were 
dear  to  his  thoughts  of  what  a  church  should  be, 
and  imparted  to  it  much  of  the  free  spirit  which 
he  longed  to  have  it  share.  He  was  almost  never 
controversial,  very  infrequently  calling  up  the 
positions  of  others  for  refutation  by  argument, 
but  always  preferring  the  simple  statement  of  his 
own  view,  to  make  what  way  it  might  among  the 
hearts  of  his  hearers.  His  courage  was  perfect 
because  it  was  unconscious,  a  simple  loyalty  to 
truth  which  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  withhold. 


THE   BROOKLYN  PASTORATE  179 

But  he  shrank  from  discussions,  and  the  eager  dis- 
putation, ahiiost  inevitable  for  many  years  in  the 
assemblages  of  the  Unitarians,  was  abhorrent  to 
him.  While,  therefore,  his  church  continued  to 
maintain  its  place  in  the  denomination,  he  asso- 
ciated sparingly  with  the  clergy  even  of  his  own 
neighborhood,  and  took  no  part  in  the  practical 
measures  of  the  Unitarian  communion,  or  in  the 
hot  debates  which  were  simultaneously  arising. 

His  advanced  theological  position,  and  his  view 
of  the  true  bond  of  religious  union,  Mr.  Longfellow 
had  clearly  presented  at  the  outset  of  his  tem- 
porary engagement  as  minister  of  the  Brooklyn 
Society.  His  first  sermon  after  his  installation 
was  a  sequel  and  fitting  pendant  to  the  earlier 
discourses.  It  was  the  keynote  of  his  ministry. 
He  entitled  it  "  A  Spiritual  and  Working  Church." 
It  defined  and  luminously  portrayed  a  particular 
church  as  a  "  society  of  men,  women  and  children 
associated  by  a  religious  spirit  for  a  religious 
work."  That  in  his  definition  he  should  have  in- 
cluded cJiildrcn  was  a  token  of  one  of  his  warmest 
sentiments,  but  it  also  intimated  the  breadth  and 
completeness  of  his  conception.  Youth  was  not 
merely  in  the  tutelary  charge  of  the  church  ;  it 
was  an  integral  part  of  it.  He  expected  the  church 
to  have  an  elaborate  organization  for  practical 
services  to  society,  and    some  of   the   agencies 


l80  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

for  moral  and  philanthropic  work  which  have 
since  become  most  important  in  our  churches 
were  anticipated  in  the  suggestions  of  this  dis- 
course. The  Sunday-school,  the  study  of  the 
Bible  and  of  theological  doctrines  and  questions 
in  religious  philosophy,  the  printing  of  books 
and  tracts,  the  instruction  of  neglected  children, 
should  be  a  part  of  its  regular  activities.  He 
would  have  its  members  study  together  such 
questions  as  pauperism,  drunkenness,  crime,  sla- 
very, and  take  active  part  in  social  reforms,  as 
well  as  in  benevolent  efforts. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  here  that  Mr.  Long- 
fellow was  by  no  means  wanting  in  a  sehtiment 
for  the  church  in  its  large  sense.  His  individual- 
istic attitude,  while  doubtless  congenial  to  his 
retiring  nature,  did  not  indicate  a  willing  isolation 
from  other  religious  souls,  nor  the  lack  of  human 
sympathy,  which  then,  perhaps,  marked  some 
independent  minds,  especially  those  of  a  narrowly 
intellectual  cast.  It  was,  practically,  the  enforced 
position,  in  his  time,  of  one  fully  possessed  by 
convictions  like  his  ;  or  rather,  it  was  a  just  illus- 
tration of  the  true  attitude,  as  Mr.  Longfellow 
saw  it,  of  each  religious  individual  mind,  —  that 
of  strict  mental  independence,  the  religious  spirit 
being  the  true  bond  by  which  one  is  united  to 
other  children   of   God.     He   speaks  somewhat 


rilE  BR  0  OKL  \  iV  PAS  TOR  A  TE  1 8 1 

wistfully  of  the  unity  in  which  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church  seems  to  associate  its  members.  It  claims 
to  make  them  **  sharers  in  a  general  spiritual  life, 
transmitted  only  through  itself.  They  are  not 
only  recipients  of  the  divine  grace  that  resides 
in  its  sacraments,  but  sharers  in  the  virtue  of  its 
saints  and  martyrs."  "I  have  sometimes  felt," 
he  says,  ''  that,  amid  the  isolation  of  our  individ- 
ualism, I  could  envy  the  churchman  his  sense  of 
membership  in  a  great  body  of  brave  and  conse- 
crated men  and  women.  I  could  appreciate  the 
strength  and  impulse  it  might  be  to  him  to  feel 
that  he  was  one  of  such  a  host,  and  to  look  back 
and  around  upon  the  long  line  of  those  who  had 
marched  under  the  same  banner,  the  sight  of 
whose  folds  had  nerved  so  many  hearts  for 
victory,  and  lighted  up  so  many  eyes  filming  in 
death."  But  this  yearning  toward  the  Church 
Universal  could  really  be  satisfied  only  by  its 
broadest  interpretation,  which  includes  not  Chris- 
tendom only,  but  all  humanity,  that  '*  Church 
of  the  race,  —  man  in  his  religious  relations,  — 
which  is  founded  on  the  grand  idea  of  God  which 
lies  at  the  root  of  all  the  various  conceptions  of 
God."  , 

The  conception  of  a  church  as  he  proceeds  to 
set  it  forth  is  strictly  a  religious  one.  It  was, 
with    Mr.    Longfellow,   no    mere    lectureship    or 


1 82  SAMUEL   LOiVGFELLOW 

academy,  as  some  would  have  made  it,  nor  even 
a  mere  philanthropic  association.  The  functions 
of  these  were  included  in  its  scope  ;  but,  charac- 
teristically, the  church  existed  to  develop  in  men 
the  consciousness  of  God,  and  of  their  relation 
to  Him.  "A  church  must  justify  its  existence 
by  this,  that  it  holds  as  its  special  thought  —  not 
its  exclusive  possession,  but  its  special  thought 
—  the  idea  of  God.  This  it  is  to  apply  over  the 
whole  domain  of  life.  With  this  it  is  to  meet  all 
private  needs  and  confront  all  public  emergen- 
cies. By  this  it  is  to  try  all  spirits,  tempers,  and 
aims;  by  this  to  judge  all  customs,  institutions, 
laws.  ...  Its  work  is  to  make  vital  the  thought 
of  the  living  and  infinitely  present  God,  in  the 
life  of  its  members  and  of  society."  ...  Its  piety 
"  includes  morality  and  humanity,  as  man  is 
included  in  God." 

Such  an  organization  is  held  together,  natu- 
rally, only  by  a  **  spirit,  as  distinguished  from 
doctrine  and  form.  Some  creed  or  system  of 
opinions  about  religion  is  almost  universally  the 
centre  around  which  churches  are  gathered,  or 
else  some  rite.  Now,  I  do  not  deny  that  similar- 
ity of  opinion  is  a  bond  of  union.  We  are  drawn 
to  those  who  think  like  ourselves.  But  it  is  not 
the  strongest  or  deepest  bond.  It  is  easily  over- 
ridden by  spiritual  sympathy,  or  annulled  by  the 


THE   BROOKLYN  PASTORATE  1 83 

want  of  that.  Neither  do  I  mean  to  undervalue 
correct  opinion  as  making  clear  the  way  to  right 
feeling  and  right  action,  though  quite  as  often 
right  feeling  and  action  will  lead  to  correct  opin- 
ion. Nor  do  I  deny  their  value  to  religious 
rites.  But  a  unity  sought  in  uniformity  of  belief, 
or  of  ritual  or  organization,  is  but  superficial.  Nor 
can  it  be  permanent  unless  it  destroy  freedom 
and  growth,  and  with  them  life.  We  must  look 
deeper  for  the  bond  of  living  and  abiding  unity. 
And  we  shall  find  it  where  it  has  always  existed 
amid  the  diversities  of  belief  and  organization, 
and  under  all  their  strifes,  —  in  that  unity  of  spirit 
which  is  alone  the  bond  of  an  enduring  peace. 
This  unites,  while  creeds  and  forms  sunder,  and 
shut  off  as  many  as  they  shut  in.  Alien  intel- 
lects are  brethren  here,  and  walls  vanish." 

Is  not  this  the  principle,  the  gradual  approx- 
imation to  which  has  actually  measured  the 
progress  of  the  Unitarian  body  since  1840,  and 
which  is  effectually  working  at  present  in  the 
Orthodox  sects  to  set  them  also  free,  and  to  real- 
ize among  them  the  true  church } 

But  no  church  exists  merely  for  itself.  This 
society  of  religious  men,  women,  and  children  is 
organized  for  practical  ends,  for  service.  ''  To 
work  with  God,  and  for  God,  should  be  the  great 
and  consecrated  aim  of  every  church  ;  to  make 


184  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

its  associative  life  contribute  to  the  accomplish- 
ing somewhat  of  the  Divine  purpose  ;  to  lend  its 
aid  to  redeeming  the  world  from  its  sins,  its 
wrongs,  and  its  wretchedness  ;  to  reforming  the 
age  and  the  community  from  its  special  evils,  and 
unjust  thoughts,  and  institutions ;  to  advancing 
its  spiritual  elevation  and  moral  purification.  In 
short,  every  church  should  work  for  the  coming 
of  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven,  the  reign  of  justice 
and  unselfish  love,  of  freedom  and  peace,  and 
holiness  and  brotherhood.  .  .  .  Nothing  would 
be  so  sure  to  keep  life  in  a  church  as  its  making 
itself  a  working  church.  Nothing  would  be  so 
sure  to  keep  it  filled  with  the  Spirit.  Nothing 
would  so  bind  its  members  together,  nothing 
so  surely  tend  to  make  them  think  alike,  if  that 
be  desired,  as  uniting  in  common  labors.  It 
seems  to  me  that  a  church  has  no  right  to  be, 
unless  it  can  thus  make  good  its  claim.  The 
world  has  a  right  to  put  to  it  the  question  of  the 
Jews  :  '  What  sign  showest  thou  that  we  may 
see  and  believe  thee  ;  what  dost  thou  work  ? ' 
It  has  a  right  to  expect  from  it  wonders  of  feed- 
ing and  healing  and  restoration." 

We  cannot  forbear  quoting  the  eloquent  lan- 
guage which  follows,  showing  the  high  ideal  that 
lived  in  this  preacher's  mind  of  the  institution  he 
was  set  to  serve  :  — 


THE   BR  0  OKL  YN  PAS  TOR  A  TE  185 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  whenever  a  new  church 
is  formed  the  angels  in  heaven  ought  to  sing 
again,  *  Now  shall  there  be  peace  on  earth  and 
good  will  among  men.'  And  God  should  say/  Now 
is  my  Kingdom  nearer,  and  my  will  more  truly 
to  be  done  on  earth.'  And  Jesus  should  rejoice 
in  spirit  and  cry, '  Behold  new  laborers  for  the 
harvest ;  now  shall  men  learn  to  love  God  with 
all  their  hearts  and  strength,  and  their  neighbor 
as  themselves.'  And  old  prophets'  hearts  should 
be  stirred  anew,  as  they  proclaim,  '  Now  shall 
men  beat  their  swords  into  ploughshares,  and  deal 
their  bread  to  the  hungry,  and  undo  the  heavy 
burdens,  and  give  justice  to  the  fatherless,  and 
break  every  yoke.' 

"  It  seems  to  me  as  if,  whenever  a  new  church 
is  formed,  earth's  suffering,  sinning,  wronged,  and 
perishing  ones  should  lift  their  heads,  and  a  new 
hope  light  up  their  eyes,  as  they  cried,  *  You  will 
help  us,  you  will  save  us ;  in  the  name  of  the 
God  you  say  is  our  Father,  the  Christ  you  say 
is  our  Redeemer.'  And  all  good  men's  hearts 
should  be  gladdened ;  and  earth's  tyrants  and 
tempters,  and  plotters  of  wrong  and  framers  of 
unjust  laws,  should  cower  and  tremble,  as  before 
a  new  moral  force  rising  up  to  conquer  them.  Is 
it  so }  I  will  not  doubt  that  every  church  does 
something  to  this  end.     But  the  whole  creation 


1 86  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

Still  groaneth  in  pain,  waiting  for  the  manifesta- 
tion of  the  sons  of  God." 

He  thus,  in  concluding,  expresses  the  principle 
of  organization  on  which  he  assumes  that  his  own 
society  will  take  its  stand  :  — 

''  We  will  take  for  our  basis  not  a  creed,  but  the 
spirit.  We  will  agree  to  differ  in  our  theological 
opinions  and  beliefs,  while  we  will  strive,  in  a 
common  love  of  the  truth,  after  higher  and 
clearer  views  of  it.  Believing  that  only  through 
freedom  can  the  truth  be  reached,  we  will  put  no 
shackles  on  any,  nor  place  any  obstacle,  even  of 
coldness  or  suspicion,  in  the  way  of  freest  think- 
ing. And  regarding  this  freedom  as  more  precious 
than  uniformity  of  belief,  we  will  make  it  more 
prominent  than  any  doctrine.  We  will  assume 
no  responsibility  for  opinions,  and  impose  none. 
We  may  hold  the  most  widely  differing  beliefs 
about  the  nature  of  God's  being,  while  we  strive 
together  to  deepen  our  reverence  and  love  for 
Him,  to  yield  a  more  complete  obedience  to  his 
law,  and  win  a  profounder  consciousness  of  his 
presence  and  his  peace.  We  may  hold,  as  we 
now  do,  different  views  about  Jesus,  but  we  will 
be  united  by  a  common  reverence  and  love  for 
his  spirit,  and  find  in  his  life,  however  regarded, 
redemption  from  our  sins,  and  quickening  to  our 
piety  and  our  humanity." 


THE   BROOKLYN  PASTORATE  1 8/ 

We  have  not  space  to  follow  in  detail  the 
course  of  the  ministry  thus  heralded.  "  Happy 
are  the  people  whose  annals  are  slender."  There 
would  be  few  striking  incidents  for  us  to  narrate. 
Mr,  Longfellow's  temperament  and  all  his  meth- 
ods contributed  to  a  ministry  peaceful  in  spirit 
and  outwardly  uneventful.  It  is  perhaps  suffi- 
cient if  we  say  of  the  Brooklyn  pastorate  that 
it  was  the  consistent  development  in  fact  of  the 
principles  which,  in  his  opening  sermons,  he  had 
laid  down ;  the  realization,  in  an  encouraging 
degree,  of  the  ideals  he  then  and  ever  afterwards 
unswervingly  held  up.  Always  he  preached 
religion  ;  whatever  his  particular  topic,  its  inter- 
pretation was  a  religious  one.  The  sense  of 
divine  things,  of  the  presence  of  God  in  human 
affairs  and  with  the  private  soul,  was  constant 
and  vivid  with  him.  It  was  too  sacred  for  ful- 
some and  passionate  expression.  It  impressed 
a  reverential  quiet  upon  his  devotional  services, 
and  gave  a  subdued  earnestness  to  his  preaching, 
which  was  only  the  expression,  in  every  variety 
of  form  and  through  every  topic,  of  the  one 
great  truth  of  God.  No  subject  of  human  wel- 
fare was  foreign  to  his  pulpit.  On  political  and 
social  questions  he  never  failed  to  speak,  as  occa- 
sion arose,  with  frankness  and  fervor.  Yet  he 
loved  best  the  simple  themes  of  the  personal  and 


1 88  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

inner  life,  of  domestic  and  social  relations,  of 
faith  and  conscience  and  mutual  love  and  service. 
To  reveal  God  in  the  i^rivate  experience  ;  to  show 
the  divineness  of  common  things  ;  the  oppor- 
tunities of  the  highest  self-culture  in  the  nar- 
rowest and  most  ordinary  conditions ;  to  fortify 
rectitude  and  awaken  piety  and  aspiration  in 
common  hearts ;  to  check  worldliness  in  the 
energetic  and  successful ;  to  show  the  young  the 
nobler  meanings  of  which  life  may  be  full,  — 
these  were  the  instinctive  and  congenial  aims  of 
Samuel  Longfellow  as  a  preacher. 

In  the  pastoral  relation  his  guiding  purpose 
was  the  same,  quietly  and  unofficiously  to  diffuse 
the  same  truths,  to  cultivate  the  same  religious 
spirit,  as  opportunities  of  influence  were  offered 
him  in  personal  intercourse  with  his  people.  He 
had  no  formal  methods.  He  shrank  from,  rather 
than  intruded,  specific  religious  suggestions  and 
pietistic  conversation  not  called  out  naturally  by 
the  circumstances  of  the  moment.  But  his  mind 
was  dominated  by  the  religious  consciousness, 
and  he  carried  the  atmosphere  of  it  with  him.  It 
shaped  and  colored  all  his  thoughts,  and  gave 
grace  to  his  bearing  and  sweetness  to  a  voice 
which  habitually  breathed  the  tone  and  accent  of 
veneration.  Where  his  testimony  to  religious 
truth  was  invited  or  challenged,  it  was  borne  with 


THE   BR00r<:LYN  PASTORATE  189 

frankness  and  solemnity.  Were  the  snbstajice  of 
religious  truth  violated,  it  could  rise  to  abhor- 
rence or  even  indignation.  As  the  vicissitudes 
of  life  among  his  people  offered  particular  occa- 
sions of  influence,  he  brought  them  the  con- 
solations, the  encouragements,  or  the  rebukes 
of  religion  with  a  spontaneous,  simple  direct- 
ness which  gave  them  a  convincing  power  over 
men's  hearts.  He  was  a  sunny,  refining  pres- 
ence amidst  their  joys,  and  made  himself  as  a 
member  of  each  particular  household  by  the  ease 
and  delicacy  with  which  he  entered  into  its  in- 
terests and  happinesses.  One  who  had  known 
a  heavy  affliction  said,  "  He  came  to  me  when  I 
was  utterly  prostrated,  weeping  bitterly  with  my 
fatherless  boys.  He  said  not  a  word,  but  drew 
them  to  his  side,  with  his  arms  about  them.  He 
did  not  ask  us  to  pray,  —  I  only  knew  that  he  was 
praying.  He  seemed  to  lead  me  with  my  chil- 
dren into  the  presence  of  God,  and  bring  about 
us  his  protection.  I  felt  no  longer  wholly  deso- 
late ;  I  knew  that  Love  was  about  me  still." 

Mr.  Longfellow  especially  liked  unconven- 
tional and  familiar  intercourse  with  his  people. 
He  was  fond  of  "  dropping  in "  at  an  evening 
meal,  or  for  a  passing  call,  often  brief,  to  leave  a 
friendly  word  or  some  kindly  token.  Flowers 
were  as  dear  to  him  always  as  in  boyish  days, 


1 90  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

and  conveyed  for  him  many  a  message  of  affec- 
tion or  sympathy.  Only  knowing  from  a  friend 
that  in  a  certain  house  there  was  a  yomig  invalid 
near  her  end  in  consumption,  he  almost  daily  left 
a  little  bunch  of  spring  blossoms,  to  her  great 
delight  and  comfort.  "  On  the  anniversary  of  my 
great  sorrow,"  said  one  of  his  parishioners,  "  he 
did  not  make  me  a  formal  visit,  but  early  in  the 
day  he  brought  to  my  door  some  violets,  and  I 
knew  that  they  meant  he  remembered  what  I 
was  feeling,  and  that  his  heart  was  with  me." 
With  one  friend,  upon  their  birthday  anniversa- 
ries, he  exchanged  clover  -  blossoms,  —  real  or 
pictured,  —  to  which  some  former  pleasant  expe- 
rience gave  peculiar  suggestiveness.  He  loved 
to  encourage  a  fondness  for  art  and  literature, 
and  many  a  young  person  had  the  mind  opened 
to  these  sources  of  delight  and  culture  by  an 
apt  suggestion  of  his  at  a  happy  moment.  The 
photograph  of  some  fine  picture  or  statue ;  a 
little  volume  of  poetry  or  stimulating  essays ;  at 
some  fortunate  opportunity,  of  religious  writings  ; 
would  be  the  means  of  reaching  a  receptive  mind 
and  heart  with  stimulus,  or  direction,  or  help. 

The  happy  home  in  which  Samuel  Longfellow 
had  been  brought  up  left  on  his  mind  a  deep 
impression  of  the  sacredness  of  all  the  family 
ties.     For  the  marriage  relation  he  cherished  a 


THE   BROOKLYX  PASTORATE  191 

peculiar  reverence,  and,  though  he  never  entered 
into  it,  he  seemed  to  apprehend  by  intuition  its 
deepest  meanings.  The  ceremony  of  marriage  he 
always  conducted  in  a  manner  original  to  himself, 
seeking  to  adapt  its  impressions  to  the  particular 
occasion,  that  it  might  not  fail  of  full  significance. 
Of  the  other  religious  rites,  he  especially  loved 
that  of  baptism,  celebrating  it  in  the  broadest 
spirit,  as  a  service  of  gratitude  to  God  for  the 
precious  gift  of  a  child,  as  still  more  a  child  of  God, 
and  of  self-dedication,  on  the  part  of  the  parents, 
to  the  sacred  task  of  rearing  it  religiously  and 
morally.  The  communion  service,  which  he 
maintained  for  some  years  after  his  settlement 
at  Brooklyn,  he  conducted  in  the  same  spirit  as 
formerly,  as  a  memorial  rite,  calculated  to  keep 
alive  the  honor  and  love  of  one  whom  he  always 
revered  as  of  ideal  moral  and  spiritual  qualities 
of  character.  He  at  length  discontinued  the 
custom,  however  ;  not  from  any  change  of  feel- 
ing towards  it,  still  less  towards  its  object,  on  his 
own  part ;  nor  apparently  from  an  impression 
that  it  tended  to  become  a  formality  ;  but  rather, 
it  would  seem,  because  he  had  come  to  feel  that 
its  effect  was  too  intense,  —  possibly,  that  it  was 
difficult  to  prevent  its  influence  from  being  of 
too  mystical  a  character. 

Naturally,  Mr.   Longfellow  interested  himself 


192  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

especially  in  the  religious  culture  of  the  children 
and  youth  of  his  Society.  He  early  prepared 
with  much  care  a  manual  of  devotional  services 
adapted  to  Sunday-school  use.  He  superintended 
the  conduct  of  the  school,  taking  part  in  its 
exercises  of  worship,  teaching  a  class  of  adults 
or  older  youth,  and  making  himself  well  known 
and  dear  to  the  children  of  all  ages.  He  had  a 
happy  tact  in  composing  for  them  little  addresses, 
half  sermon,  half  story,  some  of  which  remain, 
and  are  very  graceful  and  suggestive.  He  joined 
in  their  amusements  with  full  zest,  enjoying  and 
promoting  picnics  and  the  winter  festivals,  which 
he  was  full  of  expedients  to  make  entertaining. 
He  possessed,  in  a  singular  degree,  the  art  of  con- 
veying useful  thoughts  to  the  young,  almost  with- 
out stating  them.  *'  He  attracted  all  boys,"  writes 
one  of  his  young  friends  of  this  period.  "  We  felt 
a  curious  confidence  in  his  interest  in  us,  which 
boys  always  appreciate  and  repay  in  affection 
to  their  elders."  Getting  this  hold  upon  their 
hearts,  his  influence  flowed  out  to  them  sponta- 
neously, as  religion,  or  morals,  or  good  taste,  and 
won  its  own  way.  He  did  not,  by  any  means, 
limit  his  sympathy  to  the  children  of  his  own 
church  circle.  *'  That  kind  gentleman,"  a  little 
fellow  called  him,  who  knew  him,  but  did  not 
know  his  name. 


THE   BR  0  OKL  YN  PASTOR  A  TE  193 

An  innovation  of  a  wholly  original  character 
was  presently  devised  by  Mr.  Longfellow,  which 
not  only  established  itself  in  the  worship  of  his 
own  church,  but  spread,  seldom  in  so  perfect  a 
form  as  his  own,  to  others.  At  the  outset  he 
had  proposed  to  his  people  to  substitute  an  even- 
ing service  for  the  afternoon  one  then  usual. 
At  length  they  yielded  to  his  desire  and  he  pre- 
pared a  novel  order  of  service,  chiefly  devotional 
in  its  aim,  and  in  which  music  was  the  leading 
mode  of  expression,  to  which  he  gave  the  name 
*'  Vespers."  By  this  time  the  Society  was  es- 
tablished in  its  permanent  church  home,  and 
with  sympathetic,  highly-trained  musicians,  the 
new  form  of  worship  was  made  very  beautiful 
and  very  impressive.  He  yielded  to  the  wish  of 
his  people  in  admitting  anything  in  the  way  of 
a  sermon,  and  this  he  reduced  to  a  meditative 
address,  the  devotional  quality  of  which,  in  his 
hands,  harmonized  it  with  the  occasion  and  saved 
the  unity  of  effect  at  which  he  aimed.  His  own 
taste  and  deep  feeling  were  largely  a  condition 
of  the  full  success  of  the  Vespers,  which,  while 
a  pleasing  relief  to  the  old  reduplication  of  the 
morning  service,  were  seldom  elsewhere  so  im- 
pressive, or  seemed  so  genuine  as  a  devotional 
act.  They  needed,  for  their  perfect  effect,  the 
influence  of  a  leader  with  whom  worship  was  an 


194  SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW 

habitual  mental  attitude,  and  who  combined  with 
the  instinct  of  religion  the  art  of  a  poet  and  of 
a  musician.  Mr.  Longfellow  consulted  with  his 
choir  over  the  details  of  each  service,  carefully 
selecting  and  adjusting  the  musical  pieces,  and 
the  scriptural  and  poetical  selections.  Respon- 
sive exercises  were  at  the  time  almost  unknown 
in  Unitarian  and  other  Congregational  churches, 
and  became  common  at  the  suggestion  given  by 
these  services  of  the  Brooklyn  Society. 

The  Vesper  service-book  was  republished  in 
many  editions.  The  order  was  very  simple,  con- 
sisting, besides  music,  almost  wholly  of  selections 
and  adaptations  from  Scripture.  Mr.  Longfel- 
low introduced  several  exquisite  evening  hymns 
from  the ''Roman  Breviary."  Two,  at  least,  of 
these  paraphrases  were  his  own,  the  now  familiar 
*'  Now  on  sea  and  land  descending  "  and  "  Again 
as  evening's  shadow  falls." 

Early  in  1857  there  began  to  be  suggestions 
of  a  project  of  the  society  which  was  very  inter- 
esting to  Mr.  Longfellow,  both  for  its  practical 
importance  and  because  it  gave  scope  to  his 
artistic  tastes.  It  appears  first  in  the  following 
letter  :  — 


THE  BROOKLYN  PASTORATE  195 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Brooklyn,  May  4,  1857. 

Dear  Sam,  —  You  are  a  wretch  !  and  Mrs. 
Jackson  ^  thinks  so  too,  though  she  does  not  use 
that  expression. 

By  a  wretch,  I  mean  a  person,  or  a  "  party," 
who  goes  back  to  Salem  and  simultaneously  to 
silence.  I  fear  it  is  even  Nirzvana,  and  that  I 
shall  no-more-sea  you.  Write,  write,  Sam,  and 
convince  me  that  you  are  not  absorbed  and 
annihilated.  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  of  you 
yet,  or  ever,  as  one  who  comes  not  again.^ 

As  you  don't  take  the  "  Inquirer,"  you  probably 
don't  know  that  "  Rev.  Mr.  Longfellow,  pastor  of 
the  Second  Unitarian  Church,  has  had  an  attack 
of  the  varioloid,  but  is  now  convalescent."  We 
had  a  regular  siege  of  six  weeks.  Three  weeks 
of  varioloid,  then  as  I  was  getting  out,  an  attack 
of  lumbago  and  three  weeks  more,  all  leaving 
me  with  weak  eyes  and  a  weak  throat.  Now 
I  am  as  well  as  ever,  saving  a  little  hoarseness. 
The  worst  was,  that  good,  devoted  Mrs.  Jackson 

1  The  lady  with  whom  he  at  this  time  boarded. 

2  Johnson  parried,  this  thrust  in  a  letter  of  a  few  days  later  : 
"  Nirwana,  let  me  tell  you,  for  I  wish  maliciously  to  spoil  that 
heartless  joke  of  yours,  does  not  mean  'no-more-sea'  (or  see  !), 
but  '  no  more  blowing  of  wind.'  So  please  blow  no  more  wind 
at  me  ! " 


196  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

caught  the  sickness  and  suffered  more  than  I, 
but  she,  too,  is  well  again. 

Perhaps  you  have,  also,  not  heard  that  the 
Second  U.  S.  of  B.  propose  erecting  an  inexpen- 
sive chapel.  This  they  have  been  supposed  to 
be  doing  at  any  time  during  two  years  past. 
Now  they  have  begun  subscriptions.  The  money 
does  not  come  as  fast  as  we  should  like,  but  we 
don't  despair.  .  .  . 

You  should  see  the  new  study  ! 

In  another  letter  he  gives  more  details.  The 
building  —  *'  chapel,"  Mr.  Longfellow  always 
preferred  to  call  it  — ''  is  to  be  in  a  simple  Nor- 
man style,  of  brick  and  Caen  stone,"  to  '^hold  six 
hundred  people,"  and  to  cost  $13,000,  the  land 
being  $2,000  more." 

In  February,  1858,  he  is  able  to  write  that  the 
chapel  will  soon  be  dedicated,  and  he  beseeches 
Johnson  for  a  hymn.  *'  Do  not  disappoint  us, 
but  seek  the  mood  and  let  the  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings sing  themselves."  "  The  chapel,"  he  adds, 
"  with  some  things  that  might  have  been  better, 
is  yet  very  charming  ;  open,  social,  simple,  and 
fair."  In  fact,  owing  to  the  financial  stress  of 
the  time,  it  had  become  necessary  to  curtail  the 
plan  of  the  building  in  some  important  respects, 
although  its  final  cost  was  far  greater  than  had 


THE   BROOKLYN  PASTORATE  1 97 

been  intended.  The  material  ultimately  em- 
ployed was  wood,  and  a  lowered  roof  impaired 
the  beauty  of  the  interior.  But  it  was  cheerful 
and  hospitable,  and  after  their  long  abode  in  hired 
halls  it  was  a  joyful  event  to  minister  and  people 
to  enter  into  a  church  of  their  own. 

The  dedication  was  celebrated  on  the  evening 
of  March  2,  1858.  The  exercises  were  simple, 
freed  largely  from  the  formalities  with  which  the 
congregation  were  not  quite  willing  to  dispense, 
four  years  before,  on  the  occasion  of  the  installa- 
tion. They  and  their  pastor  conducted  the  ser- 
vice, he  preaching  the  sermon.  It  was  at  once 
transcendental,  yet  intensely  practical,  —  if  it  be 
practical  to  exhibit  the  most  elevated  truths  as 
applicable  to  the  whole  tenor  of  men's  actual 
lives.  Its  theme  was  "The  Doctrine  of  the 
Spirit,"  intimated  by  Paul  in  his  great  saying  in 
the  Epistle  to  the  Ephesians,  "  One  God  the 
Father  of  all,  who  is  above  all,  and  through  all, 
and  in  all."  Substantially,  the  discourse  was  a 
vindication  of  the  reality  of  the  spiritual  world 
and  spiritual  relations  ;  of  the  intimate  presence 
of  God  in  the  outward  world,  in  human  affairs, 
and  in  receptive  hearts.  By  a  contrast,  then  less 
familiar  than  it  has  happily  become,  on  the  one 
hand  with  the  crude  metaphysical  conception 
underlying  the  old  theology,  of  a  God  outside  the 


198  SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW 

universe,  directing  its  concerns  by  arbitrary 
methods  and  laws,  and  on  the  other  hand  with 
the  ground  taken  by  the  positivists,  who,  deaUng 
only  with  phenomena,  find  no  God  at  all,  it 
asserted,  on  the  testimony  of  human  conscious- 
ness, the  absolute,  infinite  spiritual  Deity  ;  One 
not  as  individual,  but  as  universal.  "  Our  spirits 
teach  us  of  spirit ;  and  our  spirits,  if  we  trust 
them,  will,  out  of  their  very  limitations,  rise  to 
the  idea  of  the  unlimited  and  infinite.  .  .  .  Let  us 
think  of  God  as  the  all-pervading  life,  the  all-em- 
bracing energy  ;  which  lives  at  every  point,  and 
wherever  it  lives  is  thought,  is  love,  is  spirit, 
and  so  is  person.  He,  the  Infinite,  contains 
and  embosoms  all.  He,  the  Absolute,  is  the 
ground  and  being  of  all ;  without  whom  nothing 
could  be,  in  whom  all  things  are,  and  from  whom 
all  things  continually  proceed.  The  laws  of  na- 
ture .  .  .  are  but  the  uniform  method  through 
which  the  forces  of  nature  act ;  the  forces  of 
nature  are  but  one  force,  one  power,  —  the  Al- 
mighty God  himself.  He  is  not  outside  the 
world,  but  at  its  centre  .  .  .  always  present  in  it, 
always  creating  it,  the  life  of  all  life,  the  ever- 
present  cause  of  all  motion,  ...  a  Spirit  every- 
where, a  present  power. 

*'  Oh,  with  what  sacredness  does  this  thought 
of  '  God,  throuHi  all '  invest  the  world  !     We  walk 


THE  BROOKLYN  PASTORATE  1 99 

amidst  miracles.  Every  spot  is  holy  ground.  The 
distinctions  of  sacred  and  profane  disappear. 
Nothing  is  common  or  unclean.  How  noble 
ought  our  lives  to  be  in  such  a  world !  How 
sacred  our  daily  work !  .  .  .  We  are  working 
among  materials  and  fabrics  whose  very  atoms  are 
held  together  by  the  present  power  of  God. 

*'  But  are  we  to  accept  this  spiritual  philosophy 
in  regard  to  outward  nature,  and  go  no  further  ? 
.  .  .  Shall  these  mute,  impercipient  material 
forms  ...  be  informed  by  the  Spirit,  and  shall 
we  for  a  moment  hesitate  to  believe  and  declare 
that  God  must  much  more  dwell  in  his  loftier 
work,  his  nobler  manifestation,  the  human  soul } 
.  .  .  No ;  .  .  .  made  in  his  image,  to  the  world 
of  spirits  like  ours  it  is  given  to  be  a  perfecter 
manifestation  and  revelation  of  God  than  all  the 
lower  Universe  can  be.  .  .  .  Through  this  spir- 
itual nature  man  is  a  child  of  God,  the  Father. 
As  child  of  God  he  shares  his  nature,  is  of  the 
same  substance  with  Him,  —  '  consubstantial,'  as 
the  old  theologians  used  to  say,  —  is  therefore 
capable  of  being  inspired  by  Him.  .  .  .  Our  rela- 
tion with  God  is  in  no  sense  mechanical,  but 
purely  vital.  .  .  .  Inspiration  and  revelation,  there- 
fore, are  normal  and  necessary  facts.  God's 
spirit  is  but  God  himself,  man's  spirit  is  man  him- 
self. ...  In  our  highest  spiritual  action,  the  divine 


200  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

and  human  are  not  distinguishable.  .  .  .  Wherever 
God's  Spirit  is,  there  is  inspiration,  and  wherever 
truth  is  opened  to  any  mind,  there  is  revelation. 

"This  is  thoroughly  Christian  doctrine.  In 
Jesus  we  recognize  a  soul  which  by  native  purity 
and  spirituality,  and  by  voluntary  consecration 
and  obedience,  was  opened,  unclogged,  and  trans- 
parent to  the  inflowing  and  transmission  of  the 
Eternal  Light.  His  soul,  quickened  of  God,  was 
in  turn  '  a  quickening  spirit '  to  the  souls  of  men, 
and  is  so  still.  In  this  way  he  was  mediator, 
though  not  sole  mediator ;  son  of  God,  though 
not  the  only  son  of  God.  .  .  .  His  inspiration  was 
not  peculiar  in  its  nature ;  was  special  only  in  its 
degree  and  quality.  It  was  not  arbitrary,  but 
came  from  obedience  to  conditions.  .  .  .  What 
was  actual  in  him  is  possible  to  all  souls  after 
their  quality.  .  .  .  Christianity,  if  it  means  any- 
thing, means  this  :  the  possibility  of  a  vital,  in- 
timate union  of  God  with  the  human  soul. 

*'It  is  interesting  to  note  how  every  awaken- 
ing of  fresh,  religious  life  in  the  world  has  begun 
with  the  proclamation  of  this  central,  vital  truth, 
—  the  essence  of  all  religion,  — the  proclamation 
of  a  living  God,  a  present  Spirit.  .  .  .  Wherever 
this  has  died  out  of  the  faith  of  men,  its  place 
usurped  by  the  tradition  of  a  Spirit  that  has  been, 
of  a  God  *  retired  behind  his  works,'  of  inspiration 


THE   BROOKLYN  PASTORATE  201 

foreclosed  and  prophecy  shut  up  in  a  book,  then 
when  worship  has  become  untrue,  and  life  pro- 
fane and  irreligious,  some  new  prophet  has  been 
stirred  to  utter  anew  the  old,  eternal  word,  God 
is,  God  lives  ;  now,  here,  within  you.  He  moves. 
He  speaks  !     To-day,  if  ye  will  hear  his  voice. 

..."  So  every  great  movement  of  moral  re- 
form begins  with  a  proclamation  of  God's  law 
written  in  the  conscience,  and  of  a  present  judg- 
ment. 

''  And  to-day,  friends,  if  we  would  have  life  in 
our  churches,  if  we  would  stay  this  desolating 
flood  of  materialism,  this  demoralizing  prevalence 
of  dishonesty  and  compromise,  and  kindle  anew 
the  dying  flame  of  faith  in  human  rights,  we 
must  preach,  first  and  last,  the  Holy  Spirit  that 
IS,  the  Living  God,  who  has  to  do  with  the  affairs 
of  men  as  intimately  now  and  in  this,  as  in  any 
past  age  or  land  ;  whose  word  our  highest  thought 
is  ;  whose  will  is  found  in  our  highest  sentiment 
of  right,  which  we  must  not  dare  to  disobey  ;  a 
God  whom  we  must  not  attempt  to  leave  out  of 
anything  that  we  do  ;  who  is  infinitely  near  to 
inspire,  to  redeem,  and  judge  us  now  ;  from  whose 
presence  we  cannot  go,  for  that  presence  is  in  us 
and  in  all ;  the  central  pervading  and  encompass- 
ing Force, — yes,  and  the  embosoming  Love,  the 
in-working  Justice,  —  condemning  and  bringing 


202  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

to  naught  all  that  is  not  of  his  Spirit  and  after 
his  law ;  saving,  establishing,  giving  victory  and 
eternal  life  now  to  whatever  is  his  own." 

Only  two  more  years  passed  for  Mr.  Longfellow 
in  the  proclamation  of  truths  like  these  to  his 
Brooklyn  congregation.  Even  at  the  date  of  the 
dedication  he  was  physically  weary  and  unwell. 
He  wrote  afterwards  to  Mr.  Johnson  that  he 
would  gladly  have  laid  down  his  service  even 
earlier,  but  could  not  leave  his  people  while  they 
were  struggling  with  the  problem  of  permanently 
establishing  the  society  and  securing  their  new 
building.  But  he  was  longing  for  change  and 
rest,  and  when  the  congregation  was  well  housed 
and  at  home  in  the  new  "chapel,"  he  felt  that 
he  must  take  a  long  period  of  repose  from  work. 
"Now  they  are  tolerably  prosperous  and  well 
established,  and  ought  to  be  able  to  go  on  by 
themselves,  and  find  a  minister  whom  they  will 
like  as  well  or  better  than  me." 

This  would  have  been  almost  or  quite  impossi- 
ble, it  would  seem,  for  the  large  majority  of  the 
Society.  Yet  it  is  a  part  of  the  truth  of  those 
times,  infected  with  the  moral  corruption  of 
which  Mr.  Longfellow  had  spoken  in  the  dedi- 
cation sermon,  —  the  "  great  atheism  which  went 
from  end  to  end  of  this  land,"  with  "  its  endless 


THE  BROOKLYN  PASTORATE  203 

compromise  and  servility,"  —  that  even  among 
his  own  progressive  and  thoughtful  people  there 
were  some  who  had  been  disturbed  and  even 
angered  by  the  bold  assertions  from  their  pulpit 
of  the  ''  higher  law,"  which  politicians  were  then 
flouting ;  its  earnest  protests  against  the  sin  of 
slavery,  and  warnings  of  the  evils  to  arise  from 
complicity  with  its  wickedness. 

What  surprises  one  now  is  that  discontent  with 
such  righteous  utterances  came  by  no  means 
always  from  the  corrupt  and  reckless  of  our 
Northern  communities,  but  often,  as  in  Mr.  Long- 
fellow's congregation,  from  some  of  the  best  peo- 
ple, so  blinded  was  that  generation.  '*  You  will 
be  surprised  to  hear,"  he  writes  to  Mr.  Johnson 
in  January,  i860,  "and  disappointed,  as  I  cer- 
tainly was,  that  a  sermon  which  I  preached  upon 
John  Brown  gave  offense  to  a  number  of  my 
congregation.  I  believe  three  families  have  left 
us.  ...  I  was  charged  with  doing  all  I  could 
to  break  up  the  Society,  with  destroying  my  in- 
fluence, etc.  O  ye  of  little  faith !  .  .  .  Cer- 
tainly the  truth  must  be  preached  but  the  more 
thoroughly !  '  What  is  the  chaff  to  the  wheat .? 
saith  the  Lord.'  " 

The  tenor  of  the  John  Brown  sermon  may  be 
gathered  from  the  following  letter  of  Mr.  Long- 
fellow's to  one  of  his  congregation  who  requested 
a  copy  of  it. 


204  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

Brooklyn,  January  ii,  i860. 

My  dear  Miss  B.,  —  My  sermon  on  John 
Brown  was  not  written  out ;  and  the  manuscript 
would  be  of  no  avail  to  you. 

It  was  a  hearty  tribute  to  the  noble  qualities 
and  aims  of  the  man  ;  a  man  of  qualities  rare  in 
these  days,  and  therefore  needing  to  be  honored 
in  pulpits,  especially  while  men  of  mere  talent 
are  eulogized. 

I  spoke  of  him  as  a  man  brave,  honest,  truth- 
telling,  God -reverencing,  humane,  —  a  lover  of 
liberty. 

In  the  presence  of  such  genuine  virtues,  one 
would  hardly  have  the  heart  to  blame  the  meth- 
ods, even.  So  I  simply  said  that  his  method  did 
not  seem  to  me  to  be  wise,  or  the  best.  As  an 
iiltra  peace  man  I  deprecate  the  use  of  destruc- 
tive force  even  to  secure  great  rights.  But  the 
world  believes  in  the  weapons  of  war,  and  they 
who  honor  the  heroes  of  the  American  Revolu- 
tion have  no  right  to  blame  John  Brown  because 
he  used  weapons  of  war  in  the  last  necessity. 

Before  the  earnestness  of  such  a  martyr  spirit, 
I  feel  how  little  most  of  us  are  doing  and  suffer- 
ing in  behalf  of  the  slave. 

My  sermon,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  was  not  cor- 
dially received  by  my  people.  I  was  suffering 
under  physical  depression,  and  did  not  do  justice 


THE   BROOKLYA'    PASTORATE  205 

to  my  own  feelings.  Yet  there  was  not  a  word 
which  I  wish  to  take  back,  —  but  only  to  say 
more  strongly. 

I  feel  that  most  momentous  times  are  opening 
upon  us.  It  seems  to  me  like  the  time  before 
the  breaking  out  of  the  Revolution.  I  do  not 
doubt  the  result.  God  give  us  heart  to  be  faith- 
ful. .  .  .  Truly  yours,         S.  L. 

It  is,  perhaps,  not  surprising  that  any  expres- 
sion of  admiration  and  sympathy  for  a  soul  so 
heroic  yet  erratic  as  that  which  dwelt  in  the 
person  of  John  Brown  should  have  been  misun- 
derstood in  a  most  critical  time,  when  men  at 
the  North  were  alive  with  anxiety  at  the  possi- 
bility of  war,  and  should  have  been  deemed  an 
indorsement  of  the  "grand  old  fanatic's"  quixotic 
undertaking.  Nor  would  the  friction  from  such 
sources  have  occasioned  Mr.  Longfellow's  resig- 
nation of  his  pulpit,  had  not  personal  reasons 
been  in  themselves  controlling.  He  had  the 
support,  in  his  antislavery  views,  of  a  large  pro- 
portion—  perhaps  the  majority — of  his  congre- 
gation, and  the  respect  and  affection  of  all.  The 
Society  had  taken  an  impress  from  his  character 
and  thought  which,  under  congenial  successors, 
it  was  never  to  lose.  But  he  had  labored  as  long 
as  in  justice  to  himself  he  could,  and  was  entitled 


206  SAMUEL    LONGFELLOW 

to  release.  On  June  24,  i860,  he  preached  his 
farewell  sermon,  from  Deuteronomy  xv.  i  :  "At 
the  end  of  seven  years,  thou  shalt  make  a 
release."  "It  was  a  noble  exposition,"  says  his 
latest  successor,  "of  his  views  and  feelings  on 
the  greatest  themes.  .  .  .  Then  they  were  the 
views  and  feelings  of  a  little  company,  now  of  a 
great  and  ever-greatening  host.  It  had  been  a 
ministry,"  adds  Mr.  Chadwick,  "  of  wonderful 
refreshment,  beauty,  tenderness,  and  spiritual 
grace."  In  his  final  review  of  it  Mr.  Longfellow 
identifies  the  central  thought  by  which  it  had 
always  been  inspired  and  shaped:  "the  intimate 
nearness  of  the  living  God,  the  Universal  Spirit. 
...  I  have  found  that  my  preaching,  beginning 
from  this,  would  perpetually  come  back  to  it. 
Whatever  topic  of  thought  or  life  I  would  unfold, 
this  was  found  lying  at  the  heart  of  it.  Was  it 
some  truth,  his  being  was  the  ground  of  it.  Was 
it  some  duty,  his  will  was  the  obligation  and  the 
power  of  it.  Was  it  some  trial,  it  was  his  oppor- 
tunity ;  some  grief,  it  was  the  opening  into  his 
peace.  Was  it  life,  it  was  to  walk  in  communion 
and  service  with  Him.  Was  it  death,  it  was  to 
go  on  with  Him  to  communion  and  service 
beyond.  This  great  thought  seemed  thus  to 
radiate  into  every  direction  and  path  of  life,  and 
all  paths  led  back  to  it. 


THE  BROOKLYy  PASTORATE  20/ 

''Thus  it  has  been  the  centre  of  my  preaching, 
—  the  thought  and  name  of  God.  Others  would 
put  Christ  there,  I  could  not  put  him  there,  for 
I  found  there  always  a  greater  than  he." 

He  proceeded  to  a  luminous  review  of  his 
teachings  in  regard  to  human  nature,  Jesus, 
immortality,  the  Bible  and  the  nature  of  reli- 
gion ;  explaining  the  grounds  of  his  dissent  both 
from  Orthodoxy  and  from  some  of  the  controlling 
Unitarian  conceptions  of  the  period.  His  exqui- 
site and  discriminating  characterization  of  Jesus 
would  now  well  express  the  view  prevailing  among 
Unitarians,  nor  could  anything  more  profoundly 
appreciative  be  uttered.  "  By  so  much  as  you 
remove  Jesus  from  humanity  in  your  thought," 
he  concludes,  '*  by  so  much  you  remove  him  from 
men's  comprehension  and  so  from  their  needs. 
But  call  him  man,  and  in  that  name  include  that 
indwelling  of  God  which  is  the  native  privilege 
of  spiritual  humanity,  and  you  speak  plainly  the 
truth  which  the  creeds  have  been  stammering, 
and  throw  clear  light  upon  the  nature  and  destiny 
of  all  men.  Say  that  Jesus  was  God  manifest,  — 
Incarnate  Deity,  —  if  you  will  ;  but  do  not  fail  to 
say  that  every  consecrated,  obedient,  illuminated 
son  of  man  is,  in  precisely  the  same  sense,  in 
however  different  degree,  the  same.  *  Whoso- 
ever is  led  by  the  Spirit  of  God,  the  same  is  the 
Son  of  God.'  " 


208  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

Two  Other  characteristic  passages  of  this  noble 
discourse  we  append  :  — 

"  With  such  views  of  man  and  of  God,  and  of 
their  intimate  relation,  my  views  of  life  have  been 
cheerful  and  sacred.  I  have  ever  urged  upon 
you  this  sanctity  of  life  in  its  small  as  well  as  its 
great  occasions,  in  its  work  and  its  play  as  well 
as  in  its  prayer  and  its  sorrow.  This  world  thus 
becomes  one  mansion  of  our  Father's  house,  full 
of  his  beauty  and  his  presence,  our  childhood's 
home ;  and  not  an  exile,  a  prison,  a  hospital,  a 
vale  of  tears,  and  journey  to  the  tomb  ;  not  even 
a  mere  probation  and  preparation  for  another 
world.  Life  a  noble  opportunity  for  spiritual  and 
manly  growth  and  the  doing  of  good  ;  heaven  and 
its  angels  close  to  us,  if  we  will  see  and  hear ; 
and  death  but  the  passing  on,  in  the  unbroken 
continuity  of  our  being,  into  a  life  beyond,  whither 
we  carry  all  of  ourselves  unchanged  into  fresh 
opportunities  and  fresh  influences.  That  the  life 
beyond  is  the  simple  continuation  of  the  inward 
life  here,  I  have  felt  a  growing  conviction  ;  the 
same  essential  character,  the  same  spiritual  laws, 
the  same  Man  and  the  same  God.  But  I  have 
had  more  to  say  to  you  of  the  present  life  than 
of  the  future,  deeming  it  noiv  of  more  impor- 
tance." 


THE  BROOKLYN  PASTORATE  209 

"  And  I  have  always  urged  upon  you  Right- 
eousness as  an  essential  part  of  Religion.  I  have 
wished  you  to  feel  the  insufficiency  of  the  de- 
voutness  which  was  not  an  inspiration  to  right- 
doing.  I  have  urged  you  to  cultivate  Conscience, 
and  feel  the  sacred  obligation  of  Duty,  and  the 
supremacy  of  the  Divine  Law,  as  revealed  within 
you.  I  have  urged  honesty,  integrity,  veracity, 
as  a  part  of  your  religion ;  and  pressed  the  claims 
of  a  high  moral  standard  amid  the  demoraliza- 
tions of  this  exciting  life.  And  not  only  private 
morality,  but  the  claims  of  society ;  that  you 
should  add  to  its  justice,  and  help  its  humanity, 
and  aid  its  reformations  till  that  kingdom  of 
heaven  be  come,  wherein  their  rights  shall  be 
given  to  man,  to  woman,  to  child  ;  to  the  poor, 
the  tempted,  the  criminal. 

"And  I  have  not  failed  to  urge  upon  you  the 
claims  of  national  Righteousness,  without  which 
no  people  can  be  free,  can  be  strong,  can  be 
truly  prosperous.  Against  the  great  immorality 
of  our  nation,  its  great  disobedience  to  the  divine 
law.  Slavery,  I  have  not  failed  to  utter  my  pro- 
test. I  have  urged  upon  you  the  critical  charac- 
ter of  this  question  among  us  ;  how  the  liberties 
and  moral  life  of  our  land  are  involved  in  it ;  yes, 
and  the  personal  manhood  of  every  one  of  us. 
Of  its  barbarism  and  its  despotism  I   have  not 


2  TO  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

failed  to  speak  ;  of  its  frequent  and  frightful  cru- 
elties, and  its  essential  and  perpetual  injustice  ; 
that  I  might  engage  your  heart  and  your  con- 
science to  work  for  the  righting  of  this  great 
wrong,  the  removal  of  which  would  ennoble  and 
aggrandize  every  part  of  our  country,  and  let  it 
breathe  its  first  full,  free  breath.  Of  the  duty 
of  the  pulpit  in  this  regard  I  have  never  felt  a 
moment's  doubt  ;  but  with  me  it  has  been  a 
desire  and  a  privilege,  even  more  than  a  duty,  to 
speak  what  was  filling  my  heart  and  conscience. 
Nor  have  I  ever  seen  what  right  politics  in  the 
pews,  and  commerce  in  the  pews,  could  claim  to 
silence  the  proclamation  of  National  Righteous- 
ness in  the  pulpit.  Some  of  you  have  not  been 
able  to  sympathize  with  all  I  have  said  on  this 
theme  ;  and  some  that  were  with  us  have,  in 
the  exercise  of  their  unquestioned  liberty,  gone 
away  from  the  hearing  of  this  word.  I  would 
rather  they  had  stayed  and  been  converted.  But 
I  wish  to  say  to-day  that  you  have  fully  respected 
the  freedom  of  this  pulpit ;  that  through  all,  no 
persuasion  or  inducement  has  been  addressed  to 
me  to  do  anything  else  than  preach  my  full  con- 
viction of  this  matter.  I  am  glad,  and  you  are 
glad,  to-day,  that  I  can  say  this." 

So  ended  Mr.  Longfellow's  too  brief,  yet  faith- 
ful   and    influential    ministry    to  the    church    in 


THE  BROOKL  YN  PASTOR  A  TE  211 

Brooklyn.  Persevered  in  through  no  little  phy- 
sical trial,  it  closed  prematurely,  and  yet  not 
before  a  rich  harvest  was  ripening.  He  had  put 
into  it  the  deepest  faith  and  feeling  of  his  heart ; 
the  richest  fruits  of  his  experience  and  study. 
He  had  loved  his  congregation,  had  been  much 
at  home  among  them,  and  parted  from  them 
affectionately  and  regretfully,  yet  amidst  the 
happiness  of  most  tender  expressions  of  their 
regard  and  their  sorrow  at  his  retirement.  He 
was  to  meet  them  often  again,  and  always  to 
find  assurance  that  his  memory  was  kept  green 
and  remained  dear. 

Speaking  of  Mr.  Longfellow  at  the  celebration 
of  the  Society's  twenty-fifth  anniversary  in  1876, 
his  lifelong  friend,  Octavius  B.  Frothingham, 
said  :  ^  — 

"  He  was  a  man  of  men,  one  of  ten  thousand, 
—  a  man  the  like  of  whom  for  infusing  a  pure 
and  liberal  spirit  into  a  church  has  never  been 
surpassed ;  full  of  enthusiasm  of  the  quiet,  deep, 
interior  kind  ;  worshipful,  devout,  reverent ;  a 
deep  believer  in  the  human  heart,  in  its  affec- 
tions ;  having  a  perfect  faith  in  the  majesty  of 
conscience,  a  supreme  trust  in  God  and  in  the 
laws   of  the  world  ;  a  man   thoroughly  well  in- 

1  As  quoted  by  Rev.  Mr.  Chadwick,  in  his  sermon  on  Mr. 
Longfellow,  December,  1S92. 


212  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

structed,  used  to  the  best  people,  used  to  the 
best  books  and  the  best  music,  with  the  soul  of 
a  poet  in  him  and  the  heart  of  a  saint ;  a  man 
of  a  deeply,  earnestly  consecrated  will ;  simple  as 
a  little  child,  with  the  heart  of  a  child  ;  perpetu- 
ally singing  little  ditties  as  he  went  about  in  the 
world,  humming  his  little  heart-songs  as  he  went 
about  in  the  street,  wherever  you  met  him.  .  .  . 
He  was  one  of  the  rarest  men ;  in  intellect  free 
as  light,  having  no  fear  in  any  direction,  able  to 
read  any  book,  able  to  appreciate  any  thought, 
able  to  draw  alongside  any  opinion  ;  hating  no- 
body, not  even  with  a  theological,  not  even  with 
a  speculative,  not  even  with  a  most  abstract 
hatred  ;  he  did  not  know  in  his  heart  what  hatred 
meant ;  he  loved  God,  his  fellow-men.  .  .  .  He 
was  always  in  an  attitude  of  belief,  always  in  an 
attitude  of  hope,  brave  as  a  lion,  but  never  boast- 
ing, never  saying  what  he  meant  to  do  or  what 
he  wished  he  could  do,  but  keeping  his  own 
counsel  and  going  a  straight  path,  ploughing  a 
very  straight  furrow  through  a  very  crooked 
world.  He  was  as  immovable  as  adamant  and 
as  playful  as  a  sunbeam.  He  wrought  here,  as 
the  oldest  of  you  know,  with  a  singleness  of  pur- 
pose and  a  singleness  of  feeling  that  knew  no 
change  from  the  beginning  to  the  end." 


AFTER    BROOKLYN 

Mr.  Longfellow  sailed  for  Europe  in  com- 
pany with  his  beloved  Johnson,  June  30,  i860. 
The  story  of  this  tour,  so  long  as  they  remained 
together,  was  briefly  told  in  the  Memoir  of  Mr. 
Johnson,  which  Mr.  Longfellow  prepared  after 
his  friend's  death  in  1882.  The  summer  was 
spent  in  Switzerland,  largely  in  pedestrian  travel. 
In  autumn  they  passed  down  to  Nice,  and  at  the 
beginning  of  winter  made  their  way  to  Florence, 
where  they  remained  until  spring,  when  Mr. 
Johnson  started  homeward  through  Germany, 
and  Mr.  Longfellow  went  down  to  Rome  and 
Naples. 

The  most  interesting  incident  of  this  period 
was  the  entire  recasting,  during  a  rainy  month 
at  Nice,  of  the  hymn-book,  which  had  contin- 
ued an  object  of  much  interest,  of  frequent  refer- 
ence in  their  correspondence,  and  of  intermittent 
scanty  profit  to  the  friends  up  to  this  time.  But 
Johnson,  especially,  had  long  been  dissatisfied 
with  it,  on  crrounds  of  doctrine.     Even  before  a 


214  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

second  edition  was  issued,  he  had  written  that 
he  was  dismayed  to  find  that  there  were  at  least 
sixty  hymns  in  it  which  he  could  not  conscien- 
tiously use.  These  were,  of  course,  such  as  at- 
tributed a  peculiar  quality  and  special  authority 
to  Christianity,  and  recognized  a  supernatural 
element  in  the  personality  of  Jesus.  Of  such, 
the  collection  was  now  thoroughly  winnowed, 
to  the  sacrifice  of  many  hymns,  in  form  among 
the  most  beautiful.  Even  the  exquisite  '*  Christ 
to  the  young  man  said,"  by  Henry  W.  Long- 
fellow, was  scrupulously  excluded.  The  places 
of  some  of  those  omitted  were  filled  by  new 
ones,  either  selected,  as  before,  from  many 
sources,  or  written  by  the  editors,  —  some  of 
them  especially  for  the  new  book.  In  all,  the 
revised  collection  embraced  about  twenty  of  Mr. 
Longfellow's  and  half  as  many  of  Mr.  John- 
son's acknowledged  hymns  ;  but,  besides  these, 
a  number  of  their  own  compositions  were  in- 
serted as  anonymous,  from  motives  of  modesty. 

This  purely  theistic  hymn-book,  perhaps  the 
only  one  of  its  kind,  was  published  in  1864,  ^^s 
'*  Hymns  of  the  Spirit."  Poetically,  and  in  ar- 
rangement, it  may  have  been  an  improvement 
on  the  "  Book  of  Hymns."  But  its  doctrinal  lim- 
itations were,  of  course,  a  bar  to  its  adoption  in 
many  quarters,  and  it  probably  never  reached  so 


AFTER  BROOKLYN  21  5 

wide  a  circulation  as  the  former  collection  had  at 


length  attained. 


TO    MR.    R.    H.    MANNING. 

Vienna,  October  — ,  1861. 

I  blame  myself  for  not  having,  in  all  these 
months,  sent  any  reply  to  your  letter.  I  know  I 
was  very  glad  to  get  it  and  to  hear  your  views  at 
the  time  about  American  affairs,  with  which  I 
heartily  agreed ;  desiring  very  much  that  the 
Free  States  should  be  freed  from  the  political 
and  moral  drag-weight  of  the  South.  I  wonder 
if  you  are  still  a  disunionist,  or  like  Wendell 
Phillips  now,  a  union-with-emancipation-ist  ?  I 
am  one  or  the  other,  I  am  not  perfectly  clear 
which.  I  suppose  that  to  be  a  disunionist  is 
counted  rank  treason  now  in  the  United  States. 
I  can't  help  it.  I  am  not  a  secessionist.  I  count 
the  Southern  States  to  have  acted  in  a  manner 
utterly  unjustifiable,  politically  and  morally  ; 
both  in  their  method  of  declaring  themselves 
independent  without  political  cause,  and  without 
consent  asked  of  their  confederates,  and  also  in 
their  seizure  of  federal  property  and  outrage  upon 
the  federal  flag,  thus  compelling  the  government 
of  the  United  States  to  resort  to  arms,  and  so, 
by  their  rash  unreasonableness  and  violence, 
driving  the  country  into  war.     The  government, 


2l6  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

on  the  contrary,  acted  with  the  greatest  forbear- 
ance and  moderation,  which  could  not  have  been 
carried  farther  except  upon  the  extreme  peace 
principle  that  war  is  never  justifiable.  This,  of 
course,  the  government  did  not  believe,  and, 
believing  in  war,  I  don't  see  how  it  could  do 
otherwise  than  it  has  done.  I  don't  believe  in 
war  yet ;  that  is,  I  don't  believe  it  to  be  other- 
wise than  a  very  barbarous,  cruel,  and  unjust  way 
of  settling  a  difference,  or  even  of  establishing  a 
just  cause.  And  what  I  have  read  of  this  war  in 
America  does  not  change  my  feeling.  These 
skirmishes  and  guerrilla  fights,  from  which  no- 
thing results  but  death  ;  this  shooting  of  single 
men  with  deliberate  aim  ;  this  rejoicing  over  the 
number  of  the  enemy  killed ;  this  burning  of 
houses  and  the  like,  do  not  look  even  like  the 
primal  "right  of  self-defense"  of  which  the  "I 
am  a  peace  man  "  people  talk  ;  and  I  am  not  yet 
prepared  to  put  my  peace  principles  into  a  paren- 
thesis, as  the  ministers  do.  How  it  might  be  if 
I  were  under  the  pressure  of  the  excitement  at 
home  I  won't  say.  I  remember  that  John  Brown 
shook  me  a  little,  but  not  oft'  my  feet.  However, 
granting  war,  I  don't  see  how  our  government 
could  do  otherwise  than  it  did.  And  the  upris- 
ing of  noble  enthusiasm  at  the  North  looked 
grand  to  me,  and  the  lavish  outpouring  of  money 


AFTER  BROOKLYN  21 7 

in  a  people  whom  we  had  begun  to  fear  to  be 
growing  to  love  money  more  than  anything.  A 
flood  of  self-sacrificing  enthusiasm  cannot  pass 
over  the  land  without  morally  enriching  it.  It 
would  have  been  well  if  this  same  disposition  to 
sacrifice  money,  or  the  prospect  of  it,  to  ideas 
had  been  sooner  shown.  If  men  in  the  last  years 
would  have  voluntarily  borne  the  temporary  loss 
of  business  to  which  they  are  now  compelled,  for 
the  sake  of  principle,  the  war  might  have  been 
avoided,  because  the  slaveholders  would  not 
have  been  led  on  by  continual  concessions,  to 
that  height  of  audacious  exaction  which  has  made 
them  at  last  rebels.  It  would  be  a  great  shame 
and  sorrow  if  after  all  this  suffering  and  cost 
the  great  evil  should  not  be  thoroughly  reached 
and  eradicated.  'T  would  be  best,  certainly,  that 
emancipation  should  come  voluntarily  from  the 
masters ;  but  if  they  cannot  be  persuaded,  they 
must  be  compelled,  in  the  imperative  interest  of 
the  general  safety.  And,  singularly  enough,  the 
war  puts  into  the  hands  of  the  general  govern- 
ment the  exceptional  power  which  in  times  of 
peace  it  could  not  venture  to  claim. 


2l8  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Paris,  February  20,  1862. 

Dear  Sam,  —  Your  letter  reached  me  just  at 
the  end  of  my  Berlin  visit,  which  I  prolonged  a 
little  beyond  my  first  intention,  partly  through 
inertia  and  the  difficulty  I  always  have  in  getting 
away  from  any  place,  and  partly  because  I  was 
having  a  good  time  in  that  quiet,  sober,  drab- 
colored  capital,  which  suited  my  taste  very  well, 
though  I  should  like  a  little  more  picturesqueness. 
I  did  not  learn  so  much  German  as  I  had  hoped 
to  do,  and  cannot  yet  dispense  w4th  the  Worter- 
bucJi.  Still,  I  can  read  it  with  tolerable  ease. 
As  to  speaking,  I  learned  but  little,  having  no 
German  companions,  but  only  Americans.  I 
debated  with  myself  about  going  into  a  German 
family,  and  decided  that  it  might  be  more  irk- 
some than  profitable,  considering  the  chances  of 
not  hitting  upon  pleasant  people.  With  Mr. 
Grimm  I  talked  English,  as  I  think  he  understood 
it  better  than  my  German,  and  I  could  not  very 
well  comprehend  his.  I  did  not  visit  him  as 
much  as  I  should  have  done,  partly  because  he 
lived  a  good  way  off,  and  the  weather  was  gen- 
erally bad,  and  partly  because  his  wife  was  a  good 
deal  sick.  I  had  a  very  pleasant  talk  with  her 
(or  froDi  her,  for  she  does  not  understand  Eng- 


•     AFTER   BROOKLYN  219 

lish)  the  evening  before  I  left.  She  told  me 
about  her  mother's  (Bettina's)  statue  of  Goethe, 
and  showed  me  a  bas-relief  of  hers,  full  of  the 
sweetest  classic  spirit ;  two  figures  representing 
classic  song  and  the  Volkslied.  Mr.  Grimm  was 
always  pleasant,  refined,  and  kind.  Another 
German  family  which  I  became  acquainted  with 
only  just  before  I  left  was  the  Mendelssohns,  rela- 
tives of  the  composer.  The  young  lady  is  a 
reader  of  Channing  and  Emerson  ;  and  there  is 
a  brother-in-law,  a  hearty,  kindly  Englishman,  a 
hunter  of  chamois  and  a  reader  of  the  V  Times," 
who  believes  thoroughly  in  property  and  posses- 
sion, and  counts  that,  if  a  nation  wants  a  seaport 
for  her  commerce,  that  is  sufficient  reason  for 
keeping  it,  and  that  Austria  is  quite  right  in  not 
giving  up  Venice.  Also,  that  there  will  have  to 
be  a  property  qualification  for  the  franchise  in 
America,  before  long.  I  heard  a  few  lectures 
and  a  good  many  concerts.  I  found,  on  counting 
the  concert-bills  which  I  had  kept,  that  I  had 
been  to  twenty-five  !  —  not  to  mention  operas.  I 
was  in  musical  clover,  you  see ;  but  lest  you 
should  fear  for  my  purse,  let  me  say  that  nearly 
all  were  Liebig's  twelve-and-a-half-cent  concerts. 
I  made  the  acquaintance,  among  other  things 
new,  of  Beethoven's  Sinfonie  in  B-dur,  —  the 
Fourth  I  think  ;  it  is  altogether  lovely,  and  must 


220  SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW 

rank,  perhaps,  even  above  the  Fifth.  Then  the 
singing  of  the  Dom-chor,  some  fifty  boys  and 
half  as  many  men,  was  something  wonderful ; 
fine  old  church  music,  some  of  it  very  elabo- 
rate, with  perfect  unity  and  without  accompani- 
ment. There  was  also  one  concert  of  the  Man- 
nergesangs-Verein,  a  thousand  and  more  voices 
singing  national  songs,  etc.  How  you  would 
have  enjoyed  this  !  Indeed,  it  is  plain  that  our 
winter  together  ought  to  have  been  in  Germany. 
And  the  climate  proved  not  severe,  but  rather 
mild  ;  v^ry  little  snow,  but  a  good  deal  of  rain, 
and  almost  constant  clouds ;  a  little  gloomy,  it 
must  be  confessed.  By  the  way,  do  you  remem- 
ber a  Mr.  L.,  who  used  to  be  one  of  your  congre- 
gation ?  A  son  of  his,  a  youth  of  seventeen,  was 
my  chief  ally  and  companion  in  Berlin.  We 
happened  to  meet  every  evening  where  I  went 
to  get  my  cup  of  cocoa  and  read  the  papers,  and 
we  became  fast  friends.  I  found  him  frank  and 
intelligent,  with  his  head  full  of  the  new  ideas, 
as  was  indeed  natural,  his  father  being  a  hearer 
of  Parker,  and  his  mother,  now  in  the  spirit-land, 
one  of  the  early  abolitionists,  a  friend  of  Garrison 
and  Phillips.  I  lived  at  a  very  comfortable  hotel, 
pleasantly  and  centrally  situated,  for  a  dollar  and 
a  quarter  a  day,  including  fire  (in  a  high  white 
porcelain  stove)  and  lights,  and  with  a  dinner  of 


AFTER   BROOKLYN  221 

eight  courses  !  And  have  been  in  pretty  good 
health,  save  somethmg  of  the  Florence  trouble, 
and  at  the  end  a  very  severe  cold,  which  still 
besets  my  lungs,  and  which  I  hope  to  get  rid  of 
in  —  Spain  !  Yes,  Sam,  thither  am  I  going, 
day  after  to-morrow,  with  some  twinges  of  the 
purse-strings,  I  confess  (and  premonitorily  of  the 
epigastric  or  splanchnic  nerves  at  the  prospect  of 
a  five  days'  sea  voyage  from  Marseilles  to  Malaga). 
But  I  trust  to  finding  a  smooth  Mediterranean, 
and  believe  that  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  will 
keep  and  bring  me  back  to  Paris  at  the  end  of 
the  month,  which  is  all  I  allow  myself  for  see- 
ing Granada,  Gibraltar,  Cadiz,  Seville,  Cordova, 
Madrid,  and  what  lies  between  there  and  Ba- 
yonne  and  Bordeaux.  'T  is  but  a  run,  you  see, 
but  I  thought  I  should  be  sorry  if  I  had  not  made 
it.  I  shall  endeavor  to  make  economies  durinc: 
my  month  of  April  in  Paris.  Then  will  come 
May  on  the  Rhine,  at  Heidelberg  and  Nurem- 
berg, which,  unfortunately,  I  omitted  when  I  was 
on  my  way  to  Munich,  but  cannot  think  of  losing. 
Then  through  Belgium  to  England,  and  home 
perhaps  in  August,  and  then  — ...  I  begin  to 
feel,  Sam,  as  if  I  had  almost  too  long  a  vacation. 
But  what  vacation  ever  made  a  school-boy  want 
to  work  .?  .  .  .  By  the  way,  at  the  last  moment  I 
came  near  losing  Spain,  after  all,  "for  conscience's 


222  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

sake,"  Sam.  For,  on  the  morning  of  the  day 
when  I  am  finishing  this,  going  to  see  our  Amer- 
ican Consulate  for  needed  visa  of  passport,  I  am 
told  I  must  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  the 
United  States,  and  on  reading  the  words  of  the 
oath,  I  find  it  includes  a  pledge  to  support  "  the 
Constitution  without  any  mental  reservation." 
Of  course  I  could  not  do  that  ;  and  I  said  so, 
explaining  my  position  about  the  Fugitive  Slave 
clause.  Finally  the  Consul,  respecting  my  scru- 
ples, and  seeing  that  the  object  of  the  regulation 
would  be  obtained  by  a  declaration  of  allegiance  to 
the  government,  waived  the  rest,  and  so  I  saved 
my  conscience  and  did  not  lose  the  Alhambra. 

How,  at  this  fag-end  of  my  sheet  and  no  time 
for  another,  can  I  write  of  American  affairs  ?  I 
was  glad  to  get  your  views.  Our  government 
cannot,  of  course,  proclaim  emancipation  except 
where  their  army  is  present  to  enforce  it.  Nor 
ought  they  to  do  it,  I  think,  without  wise  and  suf- 
ficient measures  to  protect  the  emancipated,  who 
would  otherwise  become  the  victims  of  their  for- 
mer masters,  now  exasperated  by  what  they  would 
think  interference  in  their  dearest  interests.  For 
the  good  of  the  blacks,  I  should  much  prefer  that 
the  slaveholders  should  themselves  emanciioate. 
Perhaps  the  government  might  do  as  the  Russian 
Emperor  has  done,  who,  decreeing  emancipation, 


AFTER  BROOKLYX  223 

has  given  the  nobles  two  years  to  arrange  the  mat- 
ter with  their  serfs.  I  met  in  the  railway  train  a 
young  Russian  who  told  me  about  them.  He  said 
his  family  had  arranged  to  give  to  each  serf  family 
six  Russian  acres  of  land,  and  to  employ  them  to 
cultivate  the  rest  with  the  payment  of  one  third 
of  the  profits  to  the  owner.  He  told  me  that  the 
nobles  were  about  to  ask  or  demand  liberty  and  a 
constitution  for  the  whole  people,  and  to  claim  that 
the  privileges  of  their  own  class  should  be  ex- 
tended to  all  citizens.  I  told  him  I  thought  that 
was  really  noble. 

In  August,  1862,  Mr.  Longfellow  returned  to 
America,  after  what  always  remained  in  his  mind 
the  most  profitable  and  satisfactory  of  his  Euro- 
pean tours. 

TO    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

Cambridge,  September  11,  1S62. 

Dear  Sam,  —  How  can  I  excuse  myself  for 
having  been  at  home  three  weeks  without  having 
written  you  a  word  t  I  assure  you  it  has  not  been 
that  I  have  not  thought  of  you  often  ;  but  you 
know  something  of  my  infirmity  as  to  letter  writ- 
ing. .  .  .  To-morrow  I  am  going  to  Brooklyn  for 
a  week  or  so.  There  is  an  autumnal  convention. 
But  I  go  more,  you  will  guess,  to  see  my  friends. 


224  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

This  morning  I  heard  Emerson  at  the  Music 
Hall.  It  was  good ;  not  especially  powerful. 
With  all  drawbacks,  I  think  we  can't  but  rejoice 
greatly  at  the  President's  proclamation.  That 
little  paragraph,  that  stands  so  simple,  plain,  di- 
rect, after  the  shambling  introduction,  —  it  is  the 
death-warrant  of  slavery.  Blessed  are  our  ears 
that  they  hear !  I  should  have  liked  that  little 
paragraph  all  by  itself.  I  should  have  liked  the 
1st  of  October  instead  of  the  ist  of  January. 
But  surely  we  can  wait  a  little,  and  meanwhile, 
as  Sumner  said,  immediate  emancipation  follows 
every  advance  of  our  army  to  every  man  who  will 
come  within  its  lines.  Of  course  we  should  have 
been  glad  if  freedom  had  come  to  the  slave  by  the 
virtue  of  the  North  rather  than  by  the  madness  of 
the  South  ;  by  the  free  gift  rather  than  the  com- 
pulsion of  his  master ;  if  it  had  been  proclaimed 
as  an  act  of  national  justice  rather  than  a  military 
necessity.  But  we  know,  too,  that  behind  it  all, 
as  a  divine  law  is  working,  so  is  a  moral  sentiment. 
Think  of  it,  Sam,  slavery  abolished  in  one  day ! 
Could  we  have  dreamed  it,  when  we  went  over  the 
ocean  two  years  ago  !  John  Brown  just  hung  for 
attempting  by  arms  that  liberation  which  the 
President  of  the  United  States  by  arms  now  pro- 
claims !  Two  years  before,  the  army  and  navy  of 
the  United  States  joining  to  take  back  Anthony 


AFTER  BROOKLYN  225 

Burns  to  slavery  ;  now  army  and  navy  pledged  to 
protect  the  liberty  of  every  escaping  black  man ! 

At  about  this  time,  Mr.  Longfellow  appears  to 
have  written  the  following  interpretation  of  the 
symphony  to  which  he  refers  in  the  last  letter  but 
one,  which  had  so  much  impressed  him,  and  which 
continued  to  be  one  of  the  musical  compositions 
which  he  peculiarly  admired. 

TO   MRS.    G.    L.    s. 

Cambridge,  1S62. 

Here  is  the  story  that  framed  itself  in  my  mind 
as  I  heard  the  Fourth  Symphony.  You  will  see 
that  it  is  an  allegory  of  human  life. 

The  call  and  aspiration  of  youth,  postponed 
sometimes  amid  the  joyousness  of  light-hearted 
days,  and  supplanted  sometimes  by  the  persua- 
sions of  religious  quietism,  hiding  indolence  under 
the  guise  of  devotion  ;  forgotten  sometimes  amid 
the  excitements  of  wordly  ''getting  and  spend- 
ing," or  the  hot  fever  of  sensual  pleasures  ;  but 
still  calling,  and  not  always  in  vain,  to  the 
awakened  and  ashamed  soul,  which  not  too  late 
grasps  anew  its  early  purposes  and  renders  a  sad- 
dened but  redeeming  service  in  the  great  battle 
of  humanity. 


226  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 


BEETHOVEN'S    FOURTH    SYMPHONY. 
I.    ADAGIO    ALLEGRO    VIVACE. 

A  youth  is  awakened  at  early  morning  by  the 
voices  of  his  comrades  summoning  him  to  go  forth 
with  them  on  a  holy  crusade.  At  first  their  call 
mingles  broken  and  vaguely  with  his  dreams. 
But  soon  he  rouses  himself  and  joins  them,  and 
they  set  out,  high  in  spirits  and  fresh  in  hope, 
gladdened  by  the  clear  morning  air  and  the  bright 
sunshine.  A  part  of  the  troop  press  eagerly  for- 
ward ;  a  part  linger  in  lively  conversation,  or  stay 
to  talk  with  the  reapers  in  the  field  and  with 
the  blithe  maidens  who  are  binding  the  sheaves. 
Among  these  is  the  youth.  And  now,  before  he 
is  aware,  he  finds  that  the  morning  hours  are 
passed  and  the  sun  is  high  and  hot  in  the  heavens. 
The  cool  shadows  of  a  pine  forest  invite  him  to 
turn  aside  and  rest. 

II.    ANDANTE    CANTABILE. 

As  he  enters  the  wood,  strains  of  sweet  and 
solemn  music  fall  upon  his  ear.  It  is  the  hymn 
of  the  monks  from  the  neighboring  Convent 
Chapel :  — 

In  the  world  is  sin  and  sorrow, 
Youth  to-day,  the  grave  to-morrow. 
All  its  toil  is  emptiness, 


AFTER   BROOKLYN  22/ 

All  its  hopes  are  hollowness. 
Life  is  short  and  judgment  near, 
Come,  thy  soul  for  death  prepare  ! 
Come,  where  holy  saints  have  trod, 
Give  thyself  to  prayer  and  God  ! 
Life  hath  danger,  life  hath  fear ; 
Here  is  peace,  for  God  is  here. 

The  youth  yields  his  spirit  to  the  soothing 
strain.  He  enters  the  chapel  ;  he  kneels  in 
prayer  ;  he  loses  himself  in  sweet  and  dreamy  rev- 
erie. Suddenly  the  tones  of  a  trumpet  rouse  him. 
It  is  the  host  of  his  comrades  which,  pursuing  its 
winding  way,  is  now  passing  the  foot  of  the  clifif 
upon  which  the  chapel  is  built.  Those  tones  re- 
call him  to  the  high  purpose  of  the  morning.  He 
leaps  up  to  go.  But  on  the  threshold  a  tender 
strain  of  music  arrests  him. 

Mortal,  whither  wouldst  thou  go  ? 
Vain  are  all  things  here  below; 
Life  has  danger,  life  has  fear ; 
Stay,  for  Peace  and  God  are  here  ! 

For  a  moment  he  hesitates ;  but  again  the 
trumpet  sounds,  already  more  distant,  and  he 
rushes  forth  to  overtake  his  comrades. 

III.   SCHERZO. 

His  road  soon  brings  him  into  the  streets  of  a 
city.     The   host    have   already  passed    through. 


228  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

But  in  the  public  square  the  crowd  of  market-day 
delays  his  steps.  Unconsciously  he  loses  himself 
in  the  eager  stir  of  the  buying  and  selling;  he 
scatters  his  gold  with  the  rest.  The  afternoon 
passes  ;  the  lamps  are  lighted  ;  the  sound  of  merry 
music  is  heard.  A  youth,  crowned  with  vine- 
leaves,  stands  at  the  door  of  the  inn  and  invites 
him  in.  He  enters  and  joins  the  revelers.  Girls 
with  bright  eyes  and  flushed  cheeks  bear  him 
away  in  the  whirl  of  the  dance ;  he  kisses  their 
hot  lips,  he  drinks  with  them  the  red  and  golden 
wine,  he  joins  in  their  jovial  songs.  At  last, 
overcome  with  the  excitement,  he  sinks  into  a 
heavy  sleep. 

IV.   ALLEGRO    NON  TROPPO. 

It  is  broad  day  when  he  awakes  ;  he  throws 
open  the  window  to  breathe  the  fresh  air.  He 
sees  below  him  on  the  plain  the  host,  gathering 
in  battle  array.  The  morning  sun  shines  on 
their  banners  and  their  burnished  arms,  as  they 
await  the  onset.  Smitten  with  shame  and  re- 
morse, he  renews  his  resolve.  He  hurries  forth, 
hoping  yet  to  be  in  time  to  take  part  in  the 
glorious  conflict.  As  he  comes  nearer,  ever 
louder  grow  the  confused  sounds  of  the  battle  as 
it  wavers  to  and  fro.  He  rushes  into  the  midst  ; 
he  seizes  a  weapon  from  a  fallen  soldier,  —  for 


AFTER  BROOKLYN  229 

his  own  he  has  lost.  The  combat  grows  fiercer 
and  wilder,  then  there  is  a  pause ;  the  sounds 
grow  faint  in  his  ears,  the  lines  grow  dim ;  he 
has  fallen,  struck  with  a  mortal  blow.  His 
comrades  bear  him  aside.  The  battle  is  renewed. 
A  shout  startles  his  dying  ear.  It  tells  that  the 
field  has  been  won.  He  lifts  himself  with  diffi- 
culty, and  with  his  last  breath  joins  the  cry  of 
Victory  ! 


XI 

OTHER    JOURNEYS    ABROAD 

Mr.  Longfellow  visited  Europe  three  times 
subsequently.  In  1865,  he  was  accompanied  by 
a  nephew,  passing  the  winter  of  that  year  chiefly 
in  Paris,  and  the  succeeding  summer  in  Switzer- 
land. In  the  spring  of  1868,  he  left  America 
with  two  sisters,  his  brother  Henry  and  his 
family,  and  Mr.  Thomas  G.  Appleton,  of  Boston, 
and  during  more  than  a  year's  time  traveled 
through  Great  Britain  and  over  a  large  part  of 
the  Continent.  The  duty  of  directing  the  move- 
ments of  the  party  and  managing  its  business 
was  confided  to  his  somewhat  unpractical,  al- 
though experienced  hands.  His  absent-minded- 
ness and  absorption  in  the  beautiful  or  interest- 
ing scenes  through  which  they  passed  led  to 
some  amusing  misadventures.  The  number  of 
umbrellas  left  resting  against  the  trees  of  Swit- 
zerland, after  he  had  concluded  hasty  sketches  of 
its  scenery,  became  a  standing  jest  among  his 
companions.  But  his  enthusiasms  surrounded 
all  their  way  with  a  romantic  charm,  and  to  the 


OTHER   JOURNEYS  ABROAD  23 1 

younger  travelers  their  journey  became  an  educa- 
tion in  history,  art,  and  literature.  The  associa- 
tions of  each  place  visited  were  made  vivid  by  his 
own  eager  interest  and  his  familiarity  with  them, 
and  the  pains  and  skill  with  which  he  arranged 
the  details  of  the  tour  to  give  them  full  and  even 
dramatic  effect.  In  Scotland,  with  some  of  his 
young  relatives,  he  walked  many  miles  to  identify 
the  scenes  of"  Rob  Roy  "  and  ''The  Lady  of  the 
Lake."  In  England,  he  led  them  through  the 
Lake  region  and  to  the  home  of  Wordsworth,  of 
whose  poems  he  was  naturally  a  warm  admirer. 
The  moment  the  party  reached  Florence,  they 
were  carried,  regardless  of  fatigue,  to  see  the 
Casa  Guidi  by  the  light  of  a  propitious  moon. 
There,  and  at  Naples,  they  traced  the  localities 
of  "  Romola  "  and  "  The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii," 
stimulated  by  his  lively  imagination  and  his 
excitement  over  some  memento  discovered,  or  an 
engraving  or  photograph  secured  as  a  prize  to 
illustrate  eithernovel.  An  qq,q,2,^\oxv2X  contretemps 
afforded  amusement  at  the  cicerone's  expense. 
He  had,  long  in  advance,  arranged  their  arrival 
at  Venice  for  the  night  of  the  full  moon,  and 
great  was  his  chagrin  when  they  were  welcomed 
to  the  city  by  a  pouring  rain,  and  crowded  into  a 
gloomy,  covered  omnibus-gondola  for  their  first 
voyage    on    the    Grand    Canal.     At    Fliielen,   in 


232  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

memory  of  William  Tell,  the  children  and  their 
uncle  purchased  an  apple,  the  seeds  of  which 
were  ultimately  to  be  planted  in  America.  As 
their  journey  took  them  next  day  into  Italy,  they 
were  not  allowed  to  cut  it  upon  alien  soil,  but 
had  to  carry  it,  with  some  inconvenience,  for  two 
or  three  weeks,  until  their  return  into  Switzerland. 
There,  with  much  ceremony,  the  apple  was 
opened,  and  there  proved  to  be  not  a  single  seed 
in  it! 

But  he  set  to  his  young  companions  a  finer 
example  which  did  not  fail  to  make  its  impression. 
"  His  interest  was  not  only  in  the  romantic  and 
picturesque,  but  still  more  in  present  human 
concerns.  Everywhere  he  had  friendly  chats 
with  the  peasant  people,  with  the  old  vergers  in 
cathedrals,  and  with  innumerable  young  men 
and  boys.  At  Lake  Como  and  Sorrento  he  made 
friends  with  the  young  boatmen,  and  drew  out 
their  confidences  about  their  business  and  home 
and  love  affairs,  into  all  of  which  he  entered  with 
the  most  lively  sympathy." 

Mr.  Longfellow's  last  tour  abroad  was  one  of 
some  months  in  1888.  He  was  accompanied  by 
a  young  friend,  Mr.  William  M.  Fullerton,  in 
whose  society  he  took  great  pleasure  during  these 
later  years,  and  whose  recollections  of  this  jour- 
ney are  of  the  same  dehghtful  kind  as  those  just 


OTHER  JOURNEYS  ABROAD  233 

described.  His  familiarity  with  localities  in 
Europe  was  thus  extensive,  but  there  remained 
regions,  as  Egypt,  Palestine,  Greece,  which  he 
wistfully  regretted  never  to  have  seen.  His 
letters  from  Europe  were,  naturally,  charming  ; 
full  of  appreciative  descriptions  of  scenery,  works 
of  art,  music,  and  meetings  with  interesting 
persons  in  many  places.  Comments  upon  polit- 
ical and  social  matters  manifest  his  deep  interest 
in  the  condition  of  the  European  peoples,  and 
frequent  references  to  public  affairs  at  home 
show  that,  wherever  he  roamed,  his  heart  re- 
mained untraveled.  Lack  of  space  has  prevented 
extended  extracts  from  a  delightful  correspond- 
ence, but  the  following  passages  cannot  be 
omitted. 

Paris,  November  16,  1865. 

Dear  Sam, — I  must  tell  you  something  of  my 
week  in  England,  .  .  .  Sunday  morning  I  went 
to  hear  Martineau  at  the  "  Little  Portland  Street 
Chapel."  But  it  was  not  the  Martineau  of 
''Where  is  thy  God  .'* "  or,  "Let  any  true  man 
go  into  silence."  He  spoke  from  the  other  side 
of  his  unreconciled  mind.  It  was  a  defense  of 
tradition  as  the  ground  of  religion  as  against 
argumentative  reasoning  and  individual  inspi- 
rations. It  was  the  ground  of  the  churchman 
against   the  rationalist   and  the   mystic.     I  was 


234  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

much  disappointed.  Conway  says,  however,  that 
Martineau  comes  out  very  finely  at  conventions, 
meetings  of  the  ministers,  and  the  like  ;  but  why 
should  n't  such  a  man  commit  himself,  once  and 
for  all,  to  his  best  thought  ? 

In  the  afternoon  I  went  to  Westminster  Ab- 
bey to  hear  Dean  Stanley  preach  on  Lord  Palm- 
erston,  who  had  been  buried  in  the  Abbey  the 
day  before.  The  crowd  was  very  great,  and  our 
seats  were  too  far  off  to  hear  without  difficulty  ; 
but  from  what  I  heard,  with  the  report  in  next 
day's  paper,  it  seemed  to  be  as  honest  a  sermon 
as  could  be  preached,  I  suppose,  in  Westminster 
Abbey.  There  were  open  moral  scandals  in 
Palmerston's  life  ;  no  principle  but  expediency 
in  his  politics.  So  Stanley  said  he  should  not 
touch  upon  political  aspects,  and  personal  religion 
he  *'  should  leave  where  our  Church  leaves  it, 
with  that  Saviour  who  is  able  to  subdue  all  to 
himself."  So  he  went  on  to  speak  of  his  good 
qualities,  and  the  honesty  was  in  the  absence  of 
fulsome  eulogy,  in  the  disclaiming  of  any  genius 
or  remarkable  abilities,  but  praising  only  his 
faithful  and  industrious  use  of  his  powers,  his 
uniform  kindliness,  his  fairness  to  opponents,  his 
cheerful  hopefulness,  and  his  devotion  to  Eng- 
land. All  which  he  held  up  to  the  imitation  of 
''young  men"  and  others.     Of  course,  I  think 


OTHER  JOURNEYS  ABROAD  235 

that  perfect  honesty  required  him,  if  he  spoke  of 
the  man  at  all,  to  speak  of  everything ;  for  the 
"  Church  "  certainly  has,  if  anything,  a  moral 
judgment  to  pronounce  ;  and  how  would  the  old 
gray  walls  have  been  transfigured  by  that  highest 
honesty,  even  beyond  the  glory  of  that  jeweled 
rose-window  through  which  the  sunset  shim- 
mered, while  the  invisible  choir  of  boys'  voices 
poured  forth  the  chants  and  hymns,  which  rose 
and  floated  and  died  away  among  the  brown 
arches  and  forest-like  columns !  As  we  left  the 
church,  the  organ  sounded  Beethoven's  Funeral 
March,  which  is  like  the  moaning  of  the  sea. 

Having  heard  Martin eau  and  Stanley,  I  went 
in  the  evening  to  see  and  hear  Carlyle  in  his 
dingy  house  near  the  water-side  at  Chelsea.  He 
received  us  kindly,  — a  slender  figure  in  iron-gray 
surtout,  with  iron-gray  hair  and  beard,  and  a  face 
all  marked  over  with  strength  and  shrewdness, 
and  touched  with  tenderness.  Apropos  of  Em- 
erson's ''Gulistan"  (a  most  disappointing  book 
to  me),  Carlyle  poured  out  about  Oriental  litera- 
ture, and  told  us  some  story  from  a  favorite 
Eastern  book,  whose  name  I  have  now  forgotten. 
Then  the  talk  turned  upon  Palmerston.  He 
said  he  was  not  a  man  of  ideas  or  principles  ; 
there  were  things  "  the  vulgar  applauded,  but 
men  of  deeper  insight  withheld  their  applause." 


236  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

He  was  not  a  man  to  lead  the  people ;  such  were 
few  at  any  time  ;  but  he  was  kindly,  and  kept 
things  well  together,  and  when  he  should  be  gone, 
"  many  an  uglier  man  might  come  in  his  place, 
and  so  I  always  said,  *  Live  on,  friend,  as  long  as 
you  can.'  "  All  this  and  much  more  was  said,  in 
a  genial,  kindly  tone,  in  strong  Scotch  accent, 
with  an  occasional  hearty  and  pleasant  laugh. 
But  universal  suffrage  happening  to  be  spoken 
of,  he  at  once  lost  his  good  humor  and  his  good 
sense.  "  To  give  every  man  a  vote  is  to  make 
Judas  the  equal  of  Jesus"  (!),  —  **/  never  had  a 
vote ; "  then,  growing  more  fierce  at  some  mild 
protest  of  mine,  he  began  to  talk  about  the  ''  dirty 
nigger,"  and  ''better  put  a  collar  on  his  neck, 
and  hold  him  down  to  his  work,"  etc.  It  was 
melancholy.  Evidently  on  this  point  he  is,  as 
Conway  says,  simply  a  monomaniac.  On  all 
others,  he  says,  he  is  full  of  wisdom,  information, 
and  tenderness.  We  were  glad,  therefore,  to 
get  back  to  Palmerston,  and  the  pictures  on  the 
wall  of  Cromwell  and  the  young  Frederic.  He 
resumed  his  good  nature,  told  an  amusing  story 
of  some  "  evangelicals,"  who  went  to  labor  with 
Palmerston,  in  his  last  sickness,  for  the  good  of 
his  soul,  to  whom  he  listened,  hopefully  saying, 
occasionally,  "  Go  on,  go  on,"  but  suddenly,  in  a 
loud  voice,  asking  them  to  "  read  the  sixth  arti- 


OTHER  JOURNEYS  ABROAD  237 

clc."  That  number  of  the  Thirty-nine,  however, 
not  proving  apropos,  they  at  last  discovered 
that  he  meant  the  sixth  article  of  the  treaty  of 
Utrecht,  on  which  his  mind  had  been  wandering  ! 
—  which  rather  disconcerted  their  hopes  of  his 
salvation. 

I  breakfasted  with  Conway.  Carlyle  said  of 
him  to  Brooks,  "He  is  a  very  flexile  person." 
He  still  preaches  in  Fox's  Chapel. 

Shanklin,  Isle  of  Wight,  July  23,  1868. 
Dear  Sam,  —  ...  The  house  [Tennyson's]  is 
so  ugly,  architecturally,  that  I  have  not  been  able 
to  make  up  my  mind  to  buy  a  photograph  of  it. 
Indoors  it  is  roomy,  homely,  old-fashioned,  and  as 
"  careless-ordered  "  as  the  garden.  We  passed 
through  a  vestibule,  a  hall  with  casts  of  Elgin 
marbles  and  a  relief  by  Michael  Angelo  on  the 
walls,  and  boxes  of  minerals  lying  around  ; 
through  a  staircase-entry  with  a  bust  of  Dante, 
a  medallion  head  of  Carlyle,  and  numerous  framed 
photographic  portraits ;  through  a  sitting-room 
with  books  and  pictures,  into  a  large  drawing- 
room  lighted  by  a  great  bay  window,  outside  of 
which  on  the  lawn  stands  an  ivy-clambered  elm. 
There  were  tables  covered  with  books,  and  on 
the  walls  were  engravings,  among  them  Michael 
Angelo's  Prophets  and  Sibyls  from    the  Sistine 


238  SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW 

Chapel.  Mrs.  Tennyson  received  us  quietly  and 
cordially,  —  a  woman  about  fifty,  with  a  delicate, 
invalid  look,  a  tranquil  face  and  manner,  and  great 
sweetness  of  expression  and  voice  ;  dressed  in 
black,  with  something  white  on  the  back  of  her 
head.  We  fell  into  conversation,  and,  to  my 
surprise,  she  expressed  some  timidities  as  to  the 
enlargement  of  the  franchise  here  (the  new  elec- 
tions are  soon  to  take  place).  "  We  should  have 
preferred,"  she  said,  "that  education  should  have 
preceded."  It  made  me  think  of  the  old  pro- 
slavery  argument.  Here,  as  with  us,  the  felt 
need  will  bring  about  what  no  mere  anticipation 
ever  would  have  done.  Education  will  go  hand 
in  hand  with  enfranchisement.  Then  she  asked 
me  to  go  out  into  the  garden  where  Tennyson 
was  smoking  with  the  other  gentlemen  (H.  W. 
L.  having  preceded  us).  She  showed  me  through 
a  study  (piled  up  with  books,  and  where  the 
boys  get  their  lessons),  and  outside  its  open 
window,  upon  the  lawn,  sat  Tennyson,  with  a 
short  pipe  in  his  mouth  and  a  large  wooden  bowl 
of  tobacco  at  his  side,  under  the  shadow  of  a 
great  clump  of  trees  and  shrubbery.  He  wore 
spectacles,  and  a  high-crowned,  broad-brimmed 
felt  hat,  looking  just  as  when  you  and  I  saw  him, 
and  speaking  in  the  same  deep  voice.  There  is 
something   a   little    brusque,  not    to   say  rough, 


OTHER  JOURNEYS  ABROAD  239 

about  his  manner  ;  yet  it  was  kindly  enough 
under  all.  They  were  speaking  about  spiritism y 
of  which  he  seemed  quite  incredulous,  yet  inter- 
ested in  hearing  about  it  from  Mr.  Appleton. 
When  some  one  said,  "  I  see  you  are  bitten  by 
it,"  he  replied,  "  No,  I  wish  I  could  be  bitten  by 
something  ;  but  I  always  stay  in  suspense,  neither 
believing  nor  unbelieving."  We  went  into  lunch. 
Speaking  of  our  going  to  the  Rhine,  he  said,  "  I 
Jiate  the  Rhine.  It  is  overrun  with  Cockneys. 
We  went  to  the  Rhine,  and  there  came  on  board 
two  fine  life-guardsmen  ;  they  fairly  reeked  of 
Windsor  soap.  They  washed  their  lily-white 
hands  in  the  drinking  water,  so  that  we  had 
nothing  to  drink.     I  hate  the  Rhine  !  " 

After  lunch  he  showed  us  all  around  the  erar- 
den  and  grounds,  and  out  into  the  fields  under 
"the  brink  of  the  noble  down."  .  .  .  He  said  he 
used  to  walk  on  the  down,  but  did  n't  much  now. 
Then  up  on  the  roof  of  the  house  to  see  the  view, 
which  is  very  lovely.  Afterward  he  took  part  of 
us  to  drive  upon  the  down  to  see  the  "  Needles." 
I  went  again  at  seven  to  dine.  His  two  boys 
were  there,  about  seventeen  and  fifteen  years. 
The  oldest  is  named  Hallam.  I  asked  him  if  his 
name  was  also  Arthur.  He  said,  "No."  I 
thought  he  was  named  from  the  father.  The 
younger  is  Lionel,  named  from  the  constellation 


240  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

Leo.  Two  very  nice  boys.  During  dinner  the 
doorbell  rang,  and  Tennyson  exclaimed,  ''Who 
is  that  ringing  the  bell  ?  Some  wretched  Cock- 
ney, I  'm  sure  it  is  !  "  He  seems  to  have,  as 
Conway  said,  a  perfect  mania  on  the  subject  of 
Cockneys.  He  is  building  a  house  in  Suffolk  to 
get  out  of  their  way. 

After  dinner  we  went  into  the  drawing-room, 
where  the  fruit  was  served,  with  wines  and  coffee. 
Tennyson  said  some  pleasant  things  about  water- 
falls, describing  beautifully  some  that  he  had 
seen.  Then  he  asked  us  to  go  up  into  his  den, 
which  is  at  the  tojD  of  the  house,  under  the  roof, 
with  dormer-windows,  and  full  of  books.  On  the 
table  I  noticed  a  large  volume  of  Lucretius,  and 
a  new  translation  of  the  Psalms.  I  told  him  that 
I  tried  in  London  to  hear  his  friend  Maurice, 
He  said  he  had  never  heard  him  preach  ;  but  one 
Sunday,  when  he  was  staying  with  them,  he  had 
read  the  service  with  great  feeling,  —  "  the  only 
time,"  he  added,  "  I  have  ever  heard  it  read  with 
any."  ''  And  think,"  said  he,  "  of  their  turning 
that  man  out  of  college  because  he  did  n't  believe 
in  eternal  hell !  That 's  putting  the  devil  on  the 
throne  of  the  Universe  !  The  clergyman  here 
preaches  it.  I  never  go  to  church.  I  used  to  go 
sometimes  in  the  afternoon ;  but  hearing  that  the 
clergyman  said  I  never  went,  I  left  off  going.     I 


OTHER  JOURNEYS  ABROAD  24 1 

could  n't  tolerate  it.  They  gabble  off  the  prayers 
so,  and  the  sermons  arc  such  nonsense."  He 
went  on  to  say  that  there  was  a  great  shaking  of 
the  Church  and  of  Christianity  in  these  days.  My 
brother  remarking  that  the  essentials  of  Chris- 
tianity would  remain  unshaken,  he  said,  "  I  don't 
know  ;  the  great  central  idea  of  Christianity 
seems  to  be  that  a  god  descended  on  earth  to 
redeem  man  ;  that 's  what  all  the  churches  teach, 
except  the  Unitarians."  "  And  yet,"  he  added, 
*'  I  can't  quite  take  Renan,  with  his  talk  about  ^ ce 
cJiarmant  philosophe!  "  The  conversation  turn- 
ing to  verse,  I  spoke  of  his  "  Daisy,"  and  its 
peculiar  and  exquisite  metre.  He  seemed  pleased, 
and  said  he  had  prided  himself  on  the  invention 
of  a  new  metre,  but  none  of  the  critics  had  ever 
noticed  it,  except  to  say  that  he  had  written 
a  poem  called  "The  Daisy,"  much  inferior  to 
one  by  Burns  on  the  same  subject !  Then  he 
said,  ''  Can  you  read  Boadicea  1  "  and  got  the 
book  ;  we  declining,  he  began  and  read  it  through 
in  the  most  astonishing  sort  of  high-pitched  chant, 
half  guttural,  half  nasal.  It  was  almost  ludicrous, 
yet  brought  out  the  metre  of  the  poem  well.  His 
boys  then  came  up  to  say  good-night,  and  kissed 
their  father.  After  a  time  we  took  our  leave, 
Tennyson  himself  lighting  us  out  over  the  lawn 
and  through  the  shrubbery  to  the  lane,  with  a 
candle  in  his  hand,  like  a  glow-worm. 


XII 

EIGHTEEN    YEARS    IN    CAMBRIDGE 

In  resigning  his  pulpit  at  Brooklyn  in  i860, 
Mr.  Longfellow  no  doubt  felt  that  he  was  virtu- 
ally retiring  from  the  active  ministry  ;  at  least, 
that  he  would  not  again  become  a  settled  pastor. 
The  precarious  condition  of  his  health,  and  the 
not  infrequent  suffering  to  which  he  was  now 
liable,  constituted  a  practical  condition  which 
was  nearly  insuperable.  A  moral  one,  not  less 
serious,  was  the  difficulty  of  finding  a  parish 
resting  on  such  a  basis,  in  its  organization,  as  he 
could  conscientiously  stand  upon.  His  convic- 
tions and  sympathies  were  deeply  with  those  who 
believed  that,  in  the  interest  of  religious  feeUng 
not  less  than  of  mental  independence,  organized 
religion  should  be  released  from  all  theological 
restrictions  and  implications  ;  that  no  doctrinal 
test,  even  the  slightest  and  most  remote,  should 
be  suggested  by  the  relation  of  church-member- 
ship. Scarcely  any  of  the  Unitarian  societies 
had,  as  yet,  reached  this  position  ;  and  of  other 
liberal  congregations,   distinctly  based  upon    it, 


E/G//TEE.V   YEARS  IN  C AM fl RIDGE        243 

there  were  but  few,  and  those  mostly  feeble  and 
struggling.  Mr.  Longfellow  could  not  resign  the 
happiness  of  preaching  where  his  thought  was 
welcome  ;  yet  he  had  little  expectation  of  other 
than  occasional  or  temporary  services  in  vacant 
pulpits. 

In  fact,  this  was  the  form  which  his  life  took 
for  many  succeeding  years.  Living  near  or  with 
his  relatives  in  Cambridge,  he  preached,  as  occa- 
sion offered,  in  many  of  the  Unitarian  churches 
of  New  England  and  of  the  West  and  South.  In 
one  or  two  instances,  his  services  were  continued 
over  periods  of  some  length.  In  Newburyport, 
where  a  highly  intelligent  congregation  had  en- 
joyed the  ministrations  of  his  friend  Higginson 
and  of  other  progressive  preachers,  Mr.  Longfel- 
low was  peculiarly  at  home.  He  supplied  the 
pulpit  there,  at  different  times,  for  several  months 
together,  and  returned  to  it  on  occasional  Sun- 
days, so  long  as  he  lived,  to  find  the  impression 
of  his  thought  and  faith  unfaded,  and  an  affec- 
tion among  the  people  such  as  one  may  be  glad 
to  earn  in  a  settled  pastorate. 

But  Mr.  Longfellow's  most  interesting  engage- 
ment was  with  the  Twenty-eighth  Congregational 
Society  of  Boston,  gathered  by  the  lamented 
Theodore  Parker.  Here  a  strictly  free  platform, 
wholly    unembarrassed     by   creed    or   covenant, 


244  SAMUEL   LOXG FELLOW 

offered  him  a  thoroughly  congenial  position.  He 
preached  for  this  society  for  more  than  a  year, 
during  1867  and  1868,  and  very  often  afterwards, 
giving,  especially,  a  noble  discourse  at  the  dedi- 
cation of  their  new  place  of  worship,  the  Parker 
Fraternity  Hall,  in  1873. 

While  these  pulpit  services  called  for  the 
usual  weekly  preparation,  there  remained  leisure 
for  a  variety  of  literary  and  aesthetic  occupations. 
Mr.  Longfellow,  although  he  was  unmethodical 
in  his  habits,  had  the  art  of  filling  his  days  with 
intellectual  activities  and  refined  amusements, 
with  quiet  philanthropies  and  kindly  services  of 
many  sorts.  Earnestly  concerned  to  promote 
religious  liberalism,  he  took  much  interest  in  the 
''  Radical  "  magazine,  and  contributed  to  its  pages 
some  of  his  maturest  thoughts.  He  was  a  con- 
stant attendant  and  frequent  speaker  at  the  *'  Rad- 
ical Club,"  which  was  organized  in  1867,  and  met 
for  a  number  of  years  subsequently  in  Boston, 
and  engaged  in  spicy  conversation  progressive 
and  idealistic  spirits  like  Emerson,  Bartol,  Al- 
cott,  Higginson,  Wasson,  Weiss,  James  Freeman 
Clarke,  Wendell  Phillips,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sargent, 
Mrs.  Julia  Ward  Howe,  Mrs.  Ednah  D.  Cheney, 
and  others. 

Of  the  Free  Religious  Association,  which 
arose  about  the  same  time,  he  did  not   become, 


EIGHTEEN   YEARS  IN  CAMBRIDGE        245 

formally,  a  member.  ''  Why  '  Free  Religion  *  ? 
'Free  Religious  Association'?  Are  not  'Re- 
ligion,' 'Religious,' sufficient  ?  "  But  he  was  in 
full  sympathy  with  the  general  aim  of  the  organ- 
ization, although  he  criticised  some  of  its  meth- 
ods. He  spoke  at  its  meetings,  and  appeared 
often  on  its  platform.  His  disposition  to  individ- 
ualism seems  also  to  have  prevented  his  formal 
association  with  the  various  antislavery  societies, 
although  he  was  even  a  Garrisonian  abolitionist, 
not  only  in  his  abhorrence  of  slavery,  but  in  a 
willingness  to  separate  from  the  South,  on  the 
ground  of  the  pro-slavery  character  (as  he  viewed 
it)  of  the  Constitution,  and  his  skepticism  of  the 
possibility  of  a  political  union  with  the  slave 
States  which  should  not  involve  disgraceful  com- 
promise of  principle  and  dignity. 

For  his  enjoyments,  music  remained,  of  all  the 
arts,  Mr.  Longfellow's  chief  delight  and  solace. 
He  mastered  no  instrument,  but  he  improved  all 
opportunities  of  hearing  music  in  the  best  forms 
then  offered,  and  his  knowledge  of  the  science, 
and  of  its  masterpieces,  was  extensive  and  thor- 
ough. Beethoven  was  his  favorite  composer. 
He  especially  loved  oratorios  and  chamber-music. 
Literature  was  a  resource  which  never  failed 
him.  He  maintained  a  familiar  acquaintance 
with  the  classics,  and  read  habitually  in  the  mod- 


246  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

ern  languages  of  Europe,  not  only  studying  their 
standard  authors,  but  keeping  well  abreast  of 
their  current  products  in  the  departments  con- 
genial to  him.  Poetry  was,  of  course,  peculiarly 
his  province,  and  whatever  of  it  was  beautiful  in 
many  literatures  was  familiar  to  him.  Into  his 
brother's  literary  work  he  entered  with  the  deep- 
est sympathy  and  appreciation,  giving  him  occa- 
sional practical  assistance  in  the  preparation  of 
his  volumes  for  publication,  especially  those  of 
his  translation  of  Dante. 

The  relation  of  these  brothers  was  one  of  the 
closest  affection ;  a  union  of  kindred  spirits, 
bound  by  happiest  family  ties,  and  by  a  perfect 
community  of  tastes  and  sentiments.  It  was  the 
blessing  of  the  group  of  children  who  had  filled 
the  rooms  of  the  ancient  dwelling  in  Portland, 
that  their  mutual  love  was  to  persist  unsevered, 
and  to  grow  deeper  throughout  their  lives.  And, 
in  this  period  of  what  must  have  been,  in  no  small 
degree,  one  of  disappointment  in  respect  to  his 
work  in  life,  his  enforced  partial  retirement  from 
the  activities  which  were  dear  to  him  was  greatly 
relieved  for  Mr.  Longfellow  by  the  long  continu- 
ance of  his  domestic  associations.  His  intense 
love  for  children  went  out  to  the  young  genera- 
tion who  clustered  in  the  homes  of  his  brothers, 
and    was    enthusiastically  returned.     They   con- 


EIGHTEEN   YEARS  IN  CAMBRIDGE        247 

fided  to  him  without  reserve  their  girlish  and 
boyish  interests,  secure  that  nothing  which  con- 
cerned them  would  ever  be  trivial  in  his  eyes. 
He  was  adopted  with  equal  warmth  and  trust  by 
their  companions,  and  to  all,  indiscriminately,  be- 
came "  Uncle  Sam."  During  several  successive 
summers,  parties  of  young  people  were  made  up, 
for  jaunts  in  the  White  Mountains,  or  elsewhere, 
of  which  he  was  a  most  welcome  member.  "  He 
was  completely  one  of  us,  in  our  walks  and  drives 
and  climbs,  only  occasionally  moderating  our 
exuberance  when  we  went  too  far,  and  then  mak- 
ing up  for  it  by  songs  and  poems  full  of  fun,  and 
jokes  suited  to  the  occasion.  Perhaps  we  did 
not  always  quite  remember  the  respect  due  him, 
for  the  ministerial  side  was,  at  such  times,  far  less 
prominent  than  the  playful  one.  .   .  . 

"We  had  a  little  school  in  the  house,  and  he 
was  constantly  in  and  out  of  the  schoolroom,  on 
most  familiar  terms  with  the  children,  sometimes 
aiding  the  discipline,  quite  as  often  disturbing  it  ; 
and  his  own  room  was  always  a  refuge  for  sad  or 
rebellious  scholars. 

"  Our  English  governess,  a  rather  timid  and 
narrow  churchwoman,  had  been  warned,  before 
entering  this  Unitarian  household,  that  '  Mr. 
Sam '  was  a  very  radical  and  dangerous  man, 
and  she  was  anxious   accordingly.      But   as    he 


248  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

never  talked  about  his  religious  views,  and  she 
saw  only  his  sweet  and  genial  nature  and  his 
childlike  ways,  she  was  completely  disarmed,  and 
afterwards  said  that,  having  known  my  father 
and  my  uncle,  she  had  never  been  able  to  say  the 
Athanasian  Creed  again." 

When  separated  from  the  different  branches 
of  his  family,  as  at  Brooklyn  and  Germantown, 
Mr.  Longfellow  forgot  the  concerns  of  neither, 
but  kept  himself  in  close  connection  with  them 
all  by  correspondence  and  frequent  tokens  of 
affection  and  interest.  His  letters  to  his  nieces 
and  nephews  were  especially  charming ;  easy  and 
sportive,  yet  often  carrying  wise  suggestions  as 
to  conduct,  taste,  or  grammar,  and,  when  occa- 
sion suggested,  treating  simply,  but  frankly  and 
impressively,  of  the  deeper  themes  of  the  inner 
life,  of  duty,  of  sorrow,  of  religious  faith.  He 
remembered  very  faithfully  birthdays  and  other 
anniversaries,  and  "  was  always  ready  with  gifts 
and  a  verse  of  fun  or  sentiment  to  accompany 
them.  Valentine's  Day  was  never  passed  without 
original  rhymes  and  pictures  especially  adapted 
to  each  recipient.  For  many  years,  with  one 
or  two  young  assistants,  he  edited  a  Christmas 
paper,  made  up  of  clippings  collected  throughout 
the  year,  which  were  combined  and  ingeniously 
adapted,  and  supplemented,  when  printed  matter 


EIGHTEEN   YEARS  IN  CAMBRIDGE        249 

failed,  by  original  contributions  in  prose  and 
poetry."  These  annual  jcux  ci esprit  were  read 
at  the  principal  family  gathering,  and  then  circu- 
lated among  the  different  homes. 

The  interest  which  Mr.  Longfellow  felt  for 
whatever  concerned^  his  young  relatives  extended 
to  all  other  youth  whom  he  could  reach.  In 
Cambridge  he  always  had  a  large  acquaintance 
among  the  students  of  the  college,  visiting  them 
in  their  rooms,  bringing  them  about  him  in  his 
own,  and,  with  an  attraction  which  seemed  mag- 
netic, enlisting  their  affection  and  opening  ave- 
nues of  kindly  and  helpful  influence  over  them. 
He  attended  many  courses  of  lectures  in  the  Uni- 
versity and  it  was  felt  that  much  of  his  pleasure 
in  them  was  derived  from  the  society  of  the  young 
men  whom  he  thus  met.  Among  the  less  fortu- 
nate youth  of  the  town  he  was  also  widely  known 
and  trusted.  He  actively  interested  himself  in 
the  Cambridge  '*  Social  Union,"  an  organization 
for  the  benefit  of  young  men  and  boys,  and  was 
its  vice-president  and  president,  until  obliged  by 
increasing  age  to  retire.  The  "  Boys'  Aid  Club  " 
made  him  an  honorary  member,  and  he  went  to 
their  meetings,  helping  them  with  advice  and 
practical  assistance  in  their  plans.  "  He  could 
pass  no  boy  in  the  street  without  some  token  of 
kindness,  if  it  was  only  a  touch  of  the  hand  as  he 


250  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

went  by."  Once,  on  a  certain  field,  which  was 
his  property,  a  group  of  boys  had  gathered  for  a 
game  of  ball.  Seeing  him  coming  they  began  to 
run  away.  But  he  beckoned  to  them,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  inducing  them  to  come  to  him,  when 
he  explained  that  he  was  ^lad  to  see  them  in 
his  field,  and  was  willing  they  should  play  there 
as  much  as  they  pleased,  an  announcement 
which  was  received  with  hearty  gratitude.  At 
one  time,  when  he  lived  near  a  boys'  school,  he 
was  approached  by  neighbors  for  his  signature  to 
a  petition  that  the  noise  they  made  should  be 
suppressed.    "  But  I  like  their  noise,"  he  replied. 


XIII 

A    FEW    LETTERS   TO    A    YOUNG    FRIEND 

With  one  or  two  youths,  Mr.  Longfellow  es- 
tablished relations  of  peculiar  intimacy.  Among 
these,  William  Allan  Klapp  was  adopted  by  him 
into  an  affection  and  watchful  interest  which 
were  truly  parental.  It  seems  desirable  to  illus- 
trate fully  one  of  Mr.  Longfellow's  traits  which 
was  peculiarly  characteristic,  and,  with  that  view, 
the  following  extracts  are  appended  from  his  cor- 
respondence with  this  very  promising  youth  (sadly 
removed  by  a  premature  death  in  1887),  which 
will  help  to  show  his  power  of  reaching  the 
hearts  of  the  young,  and  how  elevating  was  the 
influence  which  he  exerted  upon  them. 

letters  to  WILLIAM  ALLAN  KLAPP. 

Portland,  November — ,  1884. 

My  beloved  Allan,  —  I  have  come  down  to 
Portland  to  our  family  Thanksgiving  ;  and  being 
established  in  the  back  chamber  of  the  old  home- 
stead, I  very  naturally  think  of  you.     I  believe 


252  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

that  to  New  Englanders  Thanksgiving  Day  is 
more  than  to  any  other  people  ;  its  associations 
running  back  to  clays  before  Christmas  was 
observed  in  this  part  of  the  world.  In  my  boy- 
hood, even  Christmas  was  not  observed,  except 
by  the  Episcopalians  and  Roman  Catholics  (who 
then  were  few),  and  our  gifts  were  always  ex- 
changed on  New  Year's  Day.  On  Thanksgiving 
Day,  everybody  went  to  '*  meeting,"  or  church,  in 
the  morning,  where  was  always  a  wonderful  and 
elaborate  anthem  sung  by  the  choir.  And  at 
dinner  were  gathered  at  the  old  home  children 
and  grandchildren,  and  all  the  boys  and  girls 
were  allowed  to  have  as  much  turkey  and  as 
many  pieces  of  mince-pie  and  pumpkin-pie,  and 
as  many  nuts  and  raisins  as  they  could  hold. 
In  the  evening  they  played  blindman's  buff.  As 
there  are  no  longer  any  boys  and  girls  in  our 
family,  the  youngest  member  being  a  Junior  in 
college,  our  gathering  is  rather  soberer  and 
quieter  than  of  yore.  .  .   . 

I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  vote  for 
Blaine  on  the  one  hand,  or  for  the  Democratic 
party  on  the  other ;  so  I  did  not  vote  at  all  for 
presidential  electors.  But  I  think  Cleveland  will 
really  make  a  good  and  independent  president. 
There  will  be  a  Republican  Senate ;  and  the 
Democratic  party  will  be  under  great  inducement 


A   FE IV  LETTERS   TO   A    YOUNG  FRIEND     253 

to  behave  well  so  as  to  secure  a  reelection  ;  so  1 
hope  for  the  best. 

I  know  you  are  busy  at  school,  but  don't  you 
think  you  can  write  me  once  a  month ;  say  the 
first  Sunday  of  every  month  ?  I  want  to  know 
all  about  you.  .   .  . 

The  allusions  to  an  ''  island  "  in  some  of  the 
following  letters  will  doubtless  be  sufficiently 
clear  without  particular  explanation. 

Portland,  August  24,  1885. 

Dearly  Beloved,  —  By  this  time  I  hope  that 
all  obstacles  are  cleared  away  and  you  are  full 
legal  possessors  of  the  island  of  pines  ;  I  presume 
that  you  will  not  build  till  next  spring,  as  your 
vacation  is  so  nearly  over.  But  I  should  think 
you  would  like  to  put  up  some  sort  of  shelter 
under  which  you  might  camp  for  a  few  days.  I 
remember  that  the  boys  in  the  Adirondacks  put 
up,  in  a  few  hours,  a  sort  of  shanty  with  poles 
and  a  roof  of  bark,  under  which  they  could  at 
least  creep  for  shelter  from  rain.  Is  there  a  rock 
upon  which  you  could  make  a  fire?  —  for  you 
must  not  set  the  grass  on  fire,  on  any  account. 

I  am  not  quite  sure  whether  it  is  the  island 
upon  which  I  landed  with  you  that  you  have 
bargained  for,  or  the  adjacent  one.  I  feel  in- 
cHned  to  buy  both ;  and  authorize  you  to  do  so  at 


254  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

the  same  rate  as  for  the  first,  if  you  think  it 
desirable.  It  would  secure  you  from  unwelcome 
neighbors.  Are  they  near  enough  for  a  rustic 
bridge  to  be  made  to  connect  them  ? 

It  seems  absurd  that  the  house  should  cost  so 
very  much  more  than  the  island  !  There  will  be 
time  to  consider  that,  and  the  plan,  however, 
before  spring.  I  shall  probably  want  to  help  you 
about  it.  We  will  see.  Meanwhile  it  occurs  to 
me  that  you  will  have  some  legal  expenses  con- 
nected with  getting  possession,  and  as  I  wish,  at 
least,  to  make  the  island  (or  islands)  my  entire 
gift,  you  must  be  sure  to  let  me  know  the  amount. 

I  am  much  interested  in  your  appearance  in 
print,  and  hope  soon  to  see  your  longer  article. 
I  hope  you  will  go  on  writing.  If,  you  can  get 
five  dollars  a  month,  it  will  help  towards  your 
building.  Why  can't  you  write,  with  care,  ''  A 
Summer  at  Brandt  Lake,"  — just  a  lively  narra- 
tive of  your  doings, — and  send  it  to  ''Outing." 
Do  it !  I  shall  send  you  the  September  number 
in  a  day  or  two.     Love  to  Eugene. 

Yours  affectionately,         S.  L. 

Cambridge,  October  6,  1885. 
My  dear  Allan,  — I  congratulate  you  on  your 
literary  successes.     I  wish  that  *'  Outing  "  would 
have  given  you  a  higher  fee,  but  at  the  beginning 


A   FEW  LETTERS   TO  A    YOUNG  FRIEND     255 

it  is  a  great  thing  to  get  your  piece  and  your  name 
into  a  magazine  and  before  the  public.  For  your 
next  article  you  had  better  ask  more.  You  must 
not  expect  to  see  your  production  printed  very 
soon.  They  generally  have  the  numbers  made 
up  some  months  ahead. 

There  seems  to  be  a  good  deal  of  delay  about 
getting  the  title  deeds  [of  the  island] ;  but  perhaps 
by  this  time  it  is  accomplished.  And  I  hope  next 
summer  to  be  your  guest  in  ''  Longfellow  Lodge." 
If  your  room  is  only  ten  feet  wide  outside  the 
bunks,  you  must  have  a  wide  porch  outside  the 
door. 

I  should  like  to  have  been  with  you  at  Brandt 
some  of  these  lovely  days  —  warm  as  summer 
here.  Cambridge  is  in  its  autumn  glory.  Col- 
lege is  begun.  I  know  only  one  Freshman.  Oh, 
Allan,  I  felt  badly  to  hear  that  you  were  not 
coming  to  Harvard !  But  I  can  see  that,  living 
in  New  York,  there  may  be  good  reasons  for 
your  studying  at  Columbia. 

It  seems  to  me  very  absurd  that  the  college  boys 
think  they  cannot  play  at  football  for  their  own 
enjoyment,  without  the  rivalry  of  match  games. 
But  boys  are  often  unreasonable,  are  they  not } 

My  book  is,  at  last,  in  the  printer's  hands  ; 
that  is,  the  first  volume.  I  have  still  some  chap- 
ters to  write  in  the  second.  They  do  not  expect 
to  get  it  out  until  after  Christmas. 


256  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

Give  my  regards  to  your  mother,  and  my  love 
to  Eugene ;  and  a  good  deal  to  yourself. 

From  your  attached  S.  L. 

Cambridge,  December  31,  1885. 

My  dear  Allan,  —  I  am  glad  you  have  been 
enjoying  your  holidays.  By  another  week  I  sup- 
pose you  will  be  at  your  books  again.  I  rejoice 
that  you  are  doing  well  in  your  studies  and  hope 
you  have  done  with  "cutting  up."  Try  to  stand 
as  high  in  character  as  in  your  lessons.  It  is  a 
great  thing  for  a  man  to  be  high-toned  morally  : 
to  have  a  high  sense  of  what  is  manly  and  worthy 
in  motives  and  aims  and  principles  ;  to  have  a 
high  standard  of  action  that  hates  everything  low. 

I  notice  among  the  young  men  here  a  differ- 
ence. Some  think  only  of  having  a  good  time  in 
life,  or  pushing  themselves  forward  in  their  busi- 
ness or  profession,  or  getting  rich,  —  all  their  aims 
ending  in  themselves.  Others  I  find  interesting 
themselves  in  bettering  and  helping  the  commu- 
nity in  which  they  live,  taking  hold,  with  public 
spirit,  in  reform  of  politics  ;  or  taking  part  in  the 
Associated  Charities  or  Civil  Service  Reform 
associations.  They  are  not  thinking  of  their 
own  advancement  alone,  but  of  doing  something 
for  the  world,  or  that  part  of  it  in  which  they 
live.  .  .   . 


A   FEW  LETTERS    TO   A    YOUNG  FRIEND     257 
Cambridge,  February  20,  1S86. 

My  very  dear  Allan,  —  I  am  glad  that  you 
are  not  satisfied  with  a  standing  which  is  merely 
good  by  comparison  with  '*  the  other  fellows,"  and 
that  you  have  a  higher  standard  of  your  own, 
namely,  what  is  really  good  and  high.  And  I 
hope  you  will  carry  this  out  in  other  things  be- 
sides your  studies. 

I  am  entirely  willing  that  you  should  use  my 
Christmas  gift  for  the  Society  pin.  Let  it  remind 
you  of  me,  and  that  I  want  you  to  be  all  that  is 
good  and  true  and  noble,  —  a  kind  of  talisnimi. 
The  motto  is  good,  —  is  it  good  Latin  ?  —  and 
is  equivalent  to  "By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know 
them."  Actions  in  the  long  run  certainly  show 
what  a  man  is.  And  yet  always  what  a  man  or 
a  boy  is,  is  even  more  important  than  the  things 
he  docs.     Do  you  understand  that .?  .  .  . 

CAMBRmcE,  February  26,  1886. 

My  beloved  Allan, —  I  was  rejoiced  to  hear 
by  your  letter  that  the  ''  red  tape  "  was  at  last 
all  untied  ;  and  trust  that  the  deed  is  by  this  time 
in  your  possession,  and  that  you  are  full  and 
legal  owner  of  the  green  island  in  Brandt  Lake ! 
I  enter  with  all  my  heart  into  the  pleasure  which 
I  imagine  you  feel  in  being  a  "  landed  proprie- 
tor," and  the  pleasure  you  and  Eugene  will  have 


258  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

in  carrying  out  your  plans  of  building  upon  and 
living  upon  the  island. 

There  is  a  little  island  in  Loch  Katrine  called, 
from  Scott's  heroine,  "  Ellen's  Isle."  I  think  I 
will  name  yours  ''  Allan's  Isle." 

I  question,  however,  about  the  garden  which 
you  have  laid  out  upon  the  plan.  I  think  it 
would  mar  the  natural  surface,  the  space  being 
so  small.  Besides  it  would  be  too  late  to  plant 
anything  when  you  go  up  in  summer. 

When  I  think  of  it,  I  feel  quite  impatient  for 
the  summer  to  be  here,  that  I  may  come  and  see 
you  in  the  Lodge,  and  have  a  row  and  a  bath. 

I  took  tea  on  Sunday  evening  with  Mrs.  M., 
sitting  at  the  round  table  in  the  dining-room, 
and  wishing  you  were  there. 

I  cannot  remember  whether  I  sent  you  the 
money  for  the  purchase  of  the  island.  You  see 
I  am  getting  old  !     Let  me  know. 

Cambridge,  June  8,  1SS6. 

O  my  dear  Allan,  what  a  disappointment  !  Of 
course,  we  both  wish  now  that  we  had  carried  out 
the  plan  of  buying  both  islands.  However,  you 
must  make  the  best  of  it  now,  hard  as  it  is  to 
have  so  pleasant  an  anticipation  dashed  to  the 
ground.     I  can  only  hope  the  lady  will  get  tired 


A   FEW  LETTERS   TO   A    YOUNG  FRIEND     259 

of  it  in  a  few  weeks,  or  in  one  summer  at  least. 
I  do  feel  quite  badly  about  it,  myself,  as  I  had 
looked  forward  to  my  visit  to  you  with  so  much 
pleasure. 

Meanwhile,  be  as  happy  as  you  can,  and  don't 
let  yourself  be  cast  down  by  disappointment,  but 
get  some  good  out  of  it.  You  will  be  sure  to 
have  a  good  time  anyway. 

Cambridge,  June  30,  1886, 

Dear  Allan,  —  I  am  glad  to  hear  of  your  suc- 
cess in  passing  the  entrance  exams,  and  hail 
you  as  a  C-o-l-u-m-b-i-a-n !  ("Hail,  Columbia"  the 
band  will  here  play).  I  can't  help  wishing  a 
little  it  was  Harvard  ;  but  that  is  because  I  want 
to  have  you  nearer  to  me. 

To-day  has  been  Commencement  day,  and  a 
very  pleasant  one.  I  heard  some  of  the  parts 
at  Sanders  Theatre,  and  attended  the  Alumni 
dinner,  where  were  some  good  speeches,  and 
some  dull  ones.  Two  of  the  speakers  spoke 
strongly  against  the  extravagance  and  luxury 
which  they  thought  were  increasing  among  the 
students.  But  President  Eliot  said  it  was  con- 
fined to  "a  very  small  fraction"  of  the  young 
men,  even  of  the  rich  ones.  He  said  it  was  a 
mistake  to  suppose  that  Harvard  was  frequented 
chiefly  by  the  rich  ;  that,  besides  the  large  num- 


26o  SAMUEL   LOXG FELLOW 

ber  who  had  moderate  means,  actually  one  in 
five  of  the  students  received  pecuniary  aid  from 
the  college  funds. 

I  go  to  Portland  on  Saturday  for  the  summer. 
I  wish  you  were  to  be  in  that  back  chamber 
again  !  .  .  . 

Portland,  October  17,  1886. 
Still  in  Portland,  and  writing  at  the  table  in 
the  back  chamber,  which  remembers  you,  dear 
Allan.  I  can  almost  see  you  in  this  empty  chair, 
half  facing  me  as  I  write.  What  a  gift  we  have 
in  this  power  by  imagination  and  feeling  to  live 
over  again  scenes  long  past,  and  to  repeat  and 
prolong  the  pleasure.  Indeed,  we  have  our 
pleasures  thrice  over,  —  in  anticipation,  in  enjoy- 
ment, and  in  memory.  So  "our  cup  runneth 
over,"  as  the  Psalmist  said.  We  must  remember 
this  in  times  of  disappointment  and  trouble,  and 
not  arraign  the  good  Providence  that  gives  us 
"richly  to  enjoy,"  in  giving  us  the  capacity  to 
enjoy  and  abundant  occasions  for  its  exercise. 

I  want  to  hear  more  about  the  island  and  if 
anything  is  decided  upon.  Of  course,  if  you  can 
sell  the  little  one  for  enough  to  buy  the  larger, 
it   will  be  creditable  to  your  business   capacity, 


A   FEW  LETTERS    TO  A    YOUNG  FRIEND     26 1 

and  a  remote  tract  naturally  has  a  lower  market 
value  than  one  near  to  human  habitations,  though 
it  may  be  worth  more  to  individual  tastes  and 
purposes. 

By  the  way,  I  came  across  your  navic  the 
other  day,  of  all  unexpected  places,  in  a  poem  of 
Wordsworth's.  And,  oddly  enough,  it  has  refer- 
ence to  a  sale  of  land.  I  will  copy  the  verse, 
applying  it  to  the  new  ''  Allan's  Isle  "  by  chan- 
ging the  first  word.  When  you  have  become 
possessor  of  it,  we  will  say,  in  view  of  possible 
applications  to  sell  again,  — 

"  '  Should  the  troublesome  tempter  beset  us,'  said  I, 

'  Let   him   come   with   his    purse  proudly  grasped   in  his 

hand, 
But,  Allan,  be  true  to  me,  —  Allan,  we  '11  die 
Before  he  shall  go  with  an  inch  of  the  land  ! '  " 

This  occurs  in  a  poem  called  ''  Repentance."  In 
two  other  books  I  have  just  been  reading, — or 
having  read  to  me, — your  name  is  that  of  the 
hero.  .  .  . 

I  go  back  to  Cambridge  and  Craigie  House  the 
30th  of  this  month.  I  hope  I  may  welcome  you 
there  some  day.  .  .  . 

Your  attached  S.  L. 


262  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

[Xo  date],  i8S6. 

Dearly  Beloved,  —  Excuse  this  half  sheet  on 
which  I  tell  you  that,  following  your  wish,  I  have 
directed  the  publisher  to  send  you  a  copy  of  the 
''  Life  "  [of  Henry  W.  Longfellow],  which  accept 
with  much  love  from  your  friend,  the  editor. 

I  hope,  as  you  read  it,  it  may  inspire  you  to  aim 
at  a  life,  like  this,  of  earnest  purpose,  unflagging 
industry,  unstained  purity,  and  untiring  kindness. 
Your  attached  S.  L. 

A  bo7i  voyagCy  on  Allan's  departure  for  Europe  : 

[No  date.] 

Good-by,  dear  Allan  ;  think  of  me  as  always 

warmly  interested  in  your  welfare.     Keep  true  to 

your  best.     God   bless  you  ;    I  say  it   from  my 

heart. 

Your  loving  S.  L. 

Craigie  House,  Cambridge,  January  i6,  1887. 
Dearly  beloved  Allan,  —  I  am  indebted  to 
you  for  two  letters  which  I  was  delighted  to  get. 
I  am  glad  to  know  that  you  have  such  pleasant 
quarters.  It  is  a  good  deal  in  a  great  city  to  look 
upon  a  garden  ;  even,  in  winter,  to  have  the  open 
space,  and  in  the  spring  it  will  be  pleasant  to 
watch  it  growing  green.  I  shall  get  out  my  map 
and  see  if  I  can  find  the  spot.     I  remember  Paris 


A   FEW  LETTERS   TO   A    YOUNG  FRIEND     263 

as  very  gray-skied  and  drizzly  in  the  winter,  the 
pavements  covered  with  a  sticky  mud.  But  the 
winter  was  short  and  the  spring  delightful,  and 
when  the  sun  shines  what  a  bright  and  handsome 
city!  .  .  . 

The  first  winter  I  spent  in  Paris  —  in  1852-53, 
when  Louis  Napoleon  by  a  coup  d ctat  overthrew 
the  government  —  I  lived  in  the  Rue  de  la  Vic- 
toire  ;  the  second  winter  1865-66,  I  lived  on  the 
Quai  de  la  Messagerie,  near  the  Place  du  Chate- 
let.  I  never  cared  for  the  mass  in  the  Catholic 
churches,  but  I  used  to  enjoy  going  in  the  after- 
noon to  the  Vesper  Service,  which  is  almost  all 
music,  getting  away  into  some  quiet  corner  to 
enjoy  its  devotional  feeling. 

I  have  no  doubt  you  are  getting  on  rapidly  in 
speaking  French.  At  first  the  great  thing  is 
to  gain  fluency,  without  much  regard  to  accu- 
racy ;  that  is,  to  talk  without  minding  mistakes, 
—  afterwards  taking  pains  to  be  correct  and 
grammatical.  But  from  the  first  take  pains  to 
pronounce  correctly,  noticing  carefully  how  the 
educated  French  pronounce.  One  great  mistake 
English  and  Americans  are  apt  to  make  is  in 
accenting  one  syllable  of  a  word  strongly  and 
slurring  over  the  others,  just  as  we  do  in  English 
but  as  the  French  do  not.  Thus  the  P^nglish 
say  mdi-son,  the  French  vidi-sSn,  accenting  the 


264  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

second  syllable  as  much  as  the  first,  though  mak- 
ing them  both  short.  So  you  will  hear  Ameri- 
cans say  Champs  Elj/sees  instead  of  E-ly-sees ; 
and  Z?/.rembourg  instead  of  Lnx-eni-hoi'trg.  No- 
tice, yourself,  how  the  French  pronounce  these 
and  like  words.  Plays  are  good  to  read,  because 
they  give  you  the  language  of  conversation.  I 
hope  you  will  be  able  to  go  to  some  of  the  public 
lectures  at  the  College  de  France.  They  are 
free  to  all,  and  will  train  your  ear,  as  well  as  en- 
tertain and  instruct  you.  Remember  that  the 
one  thing  you  can  do  better  in  Paris  than  else- 
where is  to  leant  French;  therefore  do  not  fail 
to  make  good  use  of  this  opportunity  to  learn  it 
zvell.  Besides  a  good  pronunciation,  there  is  a 
peculiar  intonationy  which  you  can  learn  only  by 
imitation.  You  will  hear  it  in  every  shop,  espe- 
cially where  a  woman  waits  on  you.  Take  no- 
tice of  it,  and  try  to  catch  it.  There  is  a  sort  of 
turning  np  of  the  voice  at  the  end  of  a  sentence, 
whereas  in  English  we  turn  the  voice  down.  I 
give  you  these  hints  hastily. 

But  now  of  this  side  of  the  water.  ...  I  went 
to  Portland  for  Thanksgiving,  and  again  for  Christ- 
mas, where  we  had  a  merry  evening  party  at  my 
brother  Alexander's.  I  have  been  writing  three 
articles  for  a  children's  magazine,  —  "  The  Wide- 
Awake,"  —  on  "  Longfellow's  Boyhood,"  "  Long- 


A    FEW  LETTERS    TO   A    YOUNG  FRIEND     265 

fellow  with  his  Children,"  and  ''  Longfellow  with 
the  Children  "  (not  his  own). 

Oh,  my  dear  Allan,  I  think  that  little  visit  of 
yours  here  attached  me  to  you  more  strongly 
and  warmly  than  ever.  I  want  you  to  know  how 
much  I  prize  your  affection  ;  and  how  warm  and 
deep  my  friendship  for  you  is.  How  I  wish  it 
might  be  of  help  to  you  in  keeping  you  up  to 
your  best,  in  keeping  you  true  and  high-toned, 
and  above  every  thing  and  thought  that  is  low 
and  unworthy.  Set  your  mark  of  manhood  high. 
God  bless  you  !     I  say  it  from  my  heart. 

TO  THE  FATHER  OF  ALLAN  KLAPP,  ON  RECEIV- 
ING THE  NEWS  OF  THE  YOUNG  MAn's  DEATH. 

Cambridge,  February  26,  1887. 

Dear  Mr.  Klapp, — Your  telegram  is  just 
received.  Oh,  my  dear  sir,  what  a  blow  is  this ! 
My  heart  is  with  you.  But  what  can  I  say  } 
When  I  think  of  all  that  life,  that  energy,  that 
bright  intelligence,  that  promise  of  a  fine  gener- 
ous manhood  !  What  hopes  you  must  have  cen- 
tred upon  him,  and  what  he  would  be  in  the 
coming  years  !  And  now  they  are  all  dashed 
down  !  Not  here  are  they  to  be  fulfilled.  Yet 
we   know   not    from    what    he   may    have    been 


266  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

spared.  Wc  cannot  tell.  Perhaps  it  is  well  that 
it  is  not  in  our  hands  to  decide.  For  our  very 
hopes  cannot  be  free  from  some  anxiety  for  those 
we  love.  But  I  have  so  often  thought,  as  I 
looked  upon  Allan,  what  a  fine  manhood  was  in 
store  for  him,  with  his  glow  of  health,  his  vigor, 
his  ambition,  his  active  mind. 

You  know  how  warmly  and  strongly  attached 
I  had  become  to  him  and  how  much  I  prized 
his  affection.  How  hard  it  is  to  believe  and  feel 
that  I  shall  not  look  upon  his  face  again  !  But 
I  shall  always  cherish  his  bright  memory,  and  be 
a'lad  that  I  have  known  him.  With  no  son  of 
my  own,  I  had  taken  him  to  my  heart. 

But  it  is  not  perished,  —  that  life,  that  intelli- 
gence, all  those  qualities  that  endeared  him. 
Not  here,  but  elsewhere  surely  they  will  have 
their  growth  and  fulfillment.  And  we  shall  meet 
again  there  !     For  me  it  will  not  be  very  long. 

May  God  console  and  comfort  you  !  He  is 
the  Heavenly  Father.  He  does  not  take  all 
sorrow  from  us,  but  he  gives  us  strength  to  bear 
it,  and  stands  by  our  side  and  says,  "  All  shall  be 
well."  With  strongest  and  tenderest  sympathy. 
Your  friend,         Saml.  Longfellow. 


A   FEIV  LETTERS   TO   A    YOUNG  FRIEND     26/ 

TO  Allan's  :\iother. 

Cambridge,  June  21,  18S7. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Klapp,  —  I  thank  you  very 
much  indeed  for  the  portraits  of  our  dear  Allan, 
and  for  the  paper-knife.  You  were  right  in 
thinking  that  I  should  like  something  which  he 
had  tised.  The  portraits,  especially  the  larger 
head,  recall  him  to  me  distinctly  and  pleasantly, 
though  I  miss  the  bright  coloring.  He  was 
very  dear  to  me,  as  you  know.  Why  should  I 
say  was  ?  He  is  as  much  so  as  ever.  He  has 
been  often,  very  often,  in  my  thought.  And 
though,  at  first,  my  feeling  was  a  very  sad  one, 
that  I  should  never  again  look  into  his  face,  or 
hear  his  cheery  voice,  or  witness  the  unfolding 
of  his  manhood  out  of  the  bright  promise  of 
his  boyhood,  yet  now  for  me  the  shadows  have 
passed,  and  I  think  of  him  as  he  was,  so  full  of 
life  and  affection.  He  seems  very  near  to  me, 
and  brings  a  bright  joy  to  my  heart.  I  hope  it 
is  sometimes  so  with  you,  though  of  course  to 
you  the  sadness  of  the  loss  and  the  disappoint- 
ment of  hopes  must  be  keener  and  longer  endur- 
ing. "  'T  is  better  to  have  loved  and  lost  than 
never  to  have  loved  at  all,"  because  that  which 
we  have  once  loved  is  ours  forever,  by  a  deep, 
deep  tie   of  the  spirit.     The  soul  holds  fast  its 


268  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

own.  He  came  into  my  life,  a  great  happiness 
to  me  which  I  cannot  forget  or  lose.  How  much 
more  fully  can  you  say  this  !  I  do  hope,  amid 
all  your  sorrows,  that  you  have  had  many  happy 
thoughts  of  him  and  can  feel  his  presence.  Do 
not  doubt  that  you  are  often  and  deeply  in  his 
thoughts  and  his  affectionate  heart.  Sweden- 
borg  says,  and  I  think  with  truth,  that  thought 
and  feeling  make  ^^xxxtwdX  presence.  His  nature 
was  indeed  (again  I  ought  to  say  is)  full  of  sweet- 
ness ;  and  I  was  much  touched  with  what  you 
wrote  me  of  this,  in  his  illness.  His  last  little 
visit  to  me  is  a  great  delight  to  me  to  remember. 
Your  friend, 

Samuel  Longfellow. 


XIV 

THE    GERMANTOWN    PASTORATE 

The  uneventful  but  happy  mode  of  life  which 
Mr.  Longfellow  was  pursuing  in  Cambridge  was 
interrupted  in  the  early  winter  of  i^yj-j^  by 
an  invitation  to  the  pastorate  of  the  Unitarian 
Society  in  Germantown,  Pennsylvania.  His  dis- 
position to  accept  the  call  was  a  surprise  even  to 
himself.  But  the  union  of  church  and  pastor 
has  often  been  compared  to  marriage,  and  its 
conditions  closely  resemble  those  of  the  personal 
tie.  In  this  case  a  congeniality  seemed  almost 
immediately  to  reveal  itself  between  the  parties, 
and  they  were  drawn  strongly  together.  The 
liberal  spirit  of  the  Society ;  the  cordiality  and 
hospitality  of  its  members  ;  their  affectionate 
union  as  a  congregation  ;  with  the  beauty  of  the 
town  and  the  pleasant  surroundings  of  the  taste- 
ful and  homelike  church,  attracted  Mr.  Longfel- 
low, as  his  personal  traits  and  the  power  and 
sweetness  of  his  preaching  at  once  charmed  the 
people  and  led  them  to  the  unanimous  wish  that 
he  should  become  their  pastor.     After  brief  con- 


270  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

sideration,  he  responded  favorably  to  their  invi- 
tation, and  was  installed  their  minister  on  Sun- 
day, January  6,  1878. 

The  services,  by  Mr.  Longfellow's  desire,  were 
brief  and  informal.  An  address  of  welcome  and 
recognition  to  their  new  pastor  was  read,  on  the 
part  of  the  people,  by  the  President  of  the  So- 
ciety, and  prayer  was  offered  by  the  already  ven- 
erable Dr.  Furness.  Mr.  Longfellow  conducted 
the  other  exercises  of  the  occasion,  and  preached 
the  sermon.  Its  subject  was  "The  Continuity 
of  Life."  It  was  a  discourse  appropriate  to  the 
beginning  of  a  new  year  and  a  new  ministry. 
He  defined  frankly  the  position  he  should  main- 
tain as  the  teacher  of  a  pure  and  simple  theism, 
in  absolute  mental  independence.  Recognizing 
the  lofty  spiritual  and  moral  qualities  of  Jesus  as 
a  man,  and  the  nobleness  of  his  religious  and 
ethical  principles  and  ideals,  he  maintained  (in 
consistency  with  Jesus's  own  thought)  that  God, 
the  spiritual  Father  of  men,  is  the  only  proper 
object  of  worship.  He  examined  the  nature  of 
religion,  showing  that  its  scope  includes  the  en- 
tire area  of  human  relations  and  activities,  and 
that  its  truths  have  their  root  in  the  common 
nature  of  Deity  and  Humanity,  and  in  no  arbi- 
trary ordinations  whatever. 

L^nequivocal   and    thorough,    the   sermon  was 


THE    GERMANTOW.Y  PASTORATE  2/ 1 

listened  to  with  sympathy,  even  by  some  to 
whom  its  positions  were,  as  yet,  unfamiliar,  but 
who  were  commanded  by  the  earnestness  and 
deeply  devout  spirit  of  the  preacher  and  his  dis^ 
course. 

The  union  thus  formed  continued,  in  increasing 
happiness  and  mutual  affection,  for  four  and  a 
half  years.  It  was  marked  by  few  events  of 
which  record  can  now  be  made.  ''  I  remember 
it,"  writes  a  gentleman  of  the  Society,  ''as  a 
beautiful  dream  without  striking  incidents."  But 
the  influence  which  Mr.  Longfellow  acquired, 
both  within  and  without  his  congregation,  during 
this  brief  period,  was  singularly  deep  and  wide. 
His  pastorate  was  conducted  in  the  same  sim- 
plicity of  method  and  of  manners  which  had 
always  been  characteristic  of  him.  His  preach- 
ing, now  replete  with  the  wisdom  of  nearly  three- 
score years,  still  dealt  preferably  with  the  pro- 
found, but  simple,  themes  of  the  personal  life. 
Always  ethical  in  emphasis  and  direction,  it  was 
unvaryingly  pervaded  by  the  reUgious  spirit 
which  experience  and  reflection  made  ever  surer 
and  more  fervid  in  him.  His  hearers  hardly 
realized  (it  was  said)  how  profoundly  and  search- 
ingly  he  had  touched  and  moved  them,  until  they 
had  left  the  presence  of  the  preacher.  It  was  by 
the  power  of  the  truth,  discerned  and  felt,  unec- 


272  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

Statically  but  most  practically,  and  accepted  with 
unqualified  sincerity  and  absolute  loyalty  into  his 
own  life.  ''He  carried  into  deeds  all  that  he 
preached."  The  divine  quality  of  human  nature  ; 
men's  direct  relations  to  God ;  his  constant  pres- 
ence in  their  lives  ;  his  perfect  accessibility,  were, 
to  Samuel  Longfellow,  realities  so  vivid  that, 
averse  as  he  was  to  formal  utterance  of  religious 
feelings,  they  moulded  and  shone  through  all  his 
conversation,  and  seemed,  even  to  his  counte- 
nance and  the  intonations  of  his  voice,  to  give 
their  indescribable  grace  and  purity. 

In  the  homes  of  his  new  congregation  Mr. 
Longfellow  speedily  established  himself  as  a 
familiar  presence.  Observing  no  regular  system 
of  visiting,  he  seemed,  by  a  happy  tact,  to  be 
habitually  among  them,  and  especially  to  be  with 
them  when  peculiar  joys  or  sorrows  intervened 
in  the  tenor  of  their  experience.  One  who  had 
known  a  great  affliction  said,  "He  did  not  make 
me  formal  visits,  nor  remain  long  with  me  when 
he  called,  nor  speak  much  of  my  trial  and  its  sup- 
ports ;  but  almost  daily  I  received  some  reminder 
of  his  sympathy,  and  it  seemed  as  if,  through  his 
being  with  me,  the  truths  I  needed  to  support 
me  had  made  their  way  to  my  heart.  .   .  . 

"  It  was  on  Sunday  morning  when  Mr.  Long- 
fellow came,  while  the   church  bells  were  still 


THE   GERMANTOWN  PASTORATE  273 

ringing,  and  prayed  with  us.  And  such  a  prayer ! 
I  seem  to  hear  it  now,  and  to  feel  the  calm  that 
entered  into  my  soul.  What  he  was  to  me  and 
my  children  in  the  weary  days  that  followed,  it 
is  not  in  the  power  of  language  to  convey.  Not 
one  single  day  for  weeks  did  he  omit  coming  to 
see  us,  and  he  never  failed  to  leave  a  blessing 
behind.  My  anxieties  for  my  family  were  very 
great ;  but,  after  a  visit  from  Mr.  Longfellow, 
I  felt  s7Lre  the  way  would  be  opened  by  which 
I  should  be  able  to  provide  for  them,  although  I 
cannot  recall  that  he  ever  made  any  suggestion 
as  to  what  I  could  do.  But  one  felt  the  power  of 
his  own  trust  and  faith.   .   .  . 

**  By  the  way,  he  made  a  beautiful  distinction 
between  trust  and  faith.  Trust  says,  *  O  Lord, 
Thy  will  be  done.'  Faith  says,  '  I  come,  O  Lord, 
to  do  Thy  will.*  .   .  . 

"  At  one  time  I  had  been  disposed  to  look 
rather  on  the  hardships  than  on  the  mercies  of 
my  lot.  He  spoke  no  word  of  reproof,  but,  soon 
after,  sent  me  a  card  with  these  lines  :  — 

'  Though  but  one  berry  on  the  spray  should  ripen ; 
Though  but  one  spray  upon  the  bough  grow  green  ; 
Though  but  one  bough  above  the  tree-top  brighten, 
God's  power  and  goodness  in  that  one  are  seen.' 

.  .  .  ''  He  carried  into  deeds  all  that  he 
preached.       In  every  charitable  work  which  he 


274  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

proposed  to  his  congregation  it  was  '  let  iis '  do 
so  and  so." 

Into  the  joys  as  well  as  the  trials  of  his  people  ; 
their  lighter  as  well  as  their  graver  concerns  ; 
the  pleasures  of  the  young  ;  family  anniversaries, 
Mr.  Longfellow  entered  so  naturally  and  sym- 
pathetically, according  to  the  spirit  of  each  occa- 
sion, that  he  was  everywhere  the  most  welcome 
of  all  guests  to  old  and  young.  His  traits  of 
character  revealed  themselves  peculiarly  in  the 
friendly  notes,  always  short,  which,  under  various 
circumstances,  he  was  led  to  write  to  his  parish- 
ioners. The  deepest  truths  were  conveyed  in  a 
few  suggestive  words,  made  convincing  and  per- 
suasive by  their  perfect  spontaneousness.  His 
sense  of  humor  was  very  quick,  and  his  faculty 
of  sportive  verse  enhanced  the  merriment  of 
many  an  occasion  of  gladness,  as  his  tender  and 
serious  lines  helped  sorrowful  hearts  to  rise 
above  their  grief. 

In  his  personal  mode  of  life,  during  these 
years,  Mr.  Longfellow  found  a  fresh  interest  and 
pleasure,  with  something  of  amusement.  Most 
of  the  time  he  had  his  own  house,  assuming  the 
novel  responsibilities  of  bachelor  housekeeping, 
and  much  enjoying  the  opportunity  of  exercising 
hospitality. 


THE   GERMANTOWN  PASTORATE  275 

TO    !MRS.    G.    L.    S. 

Germantown, ,  1878. 

Dear  Friend,  —  Your  delicate  vase  is  on  the 
desk  before  me,  with  a  more  delicate  rosebud, 
lifting  up  its  beautiful  head  to  praise  God  by 
showing  forth  his  beauty,  and  serve  Him  by  glad- 
dening human  hearts.     What  a  psalm  it  sings  ! 

I  have  just  come  in  from  my  morning  walk  in 
this  soft,  radiant  day.  A  tender  mist  half  veiled 
the  bare  gray  woodlands,  and  the  cypress-like 
evergreen  cedars  threw  blue  shadows  on  the 
snow.  .  .   . 

Will  you  believe  that  I  am  really  at  housekeep- 
ing }  A  very  pleasant  sunny  house,  furnished, 
even  with  a  cook,  was  offered  me  at  a  very  rea- 
sonable price.  After  four  days'  experience,  I  can 
say  that  housekeeping  is  very  nice  !  I  try  to 
catch  somebody  to  dine  with  mc,  and  usually 
take  tea  out  in  the  parish. 

I  felt  at  home  in  Germantown  from  the  first, 
and  I  have  been  very  happy  since  I  came  back. 
I  must  go  to  my  sermon.     With  true  regards, 

S.  L. 


276  SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW 

TO    MRS.    G.    L.    S. 

Germantown,  April  i,  1878. 

Dear  Friend,  —  To-day  there  are  violets  in 
the  little  vase,  from  my  garden-bed.  For  the 
spring  is  here.  And  on  my  table  a  bunch  of 
Mayflowers  brought  from  the  woods  by  one  of 
my  boys.  We  miss  this  year  the  joyful  contrast 
of  winter  and  spring,  having  had  only  spring. 
For  myself,  I  think  a  week  of  real  winter  is 
enough. 

And  you,  I  hope,  are  out  among  your  trees  in 
the  sunshine,  busy  perhaps  with  your  garden- 
shears  in  teaching  your  vines  and  shrubs  to  keep 
the  limits  of  beauty,  saying  to  them,  "  Thus  far 
and  no  farther,"  and  so  helping  God  —  who  needs 
so  much  human  help  —  to  make  the  world  right. 
And  there  in  the  sunshine  and  the  new  life,  a 
soft  dirge  sounds  in  your  heart,  —  a  threnody. 

"  I  touch  this  flower  of  silken  leaves 
Which  once  his  childhood  knew  ; 
Its  soft  leaves  wound  me  with  a  grief 
Whose  balsam  never  grew. 

I  see  my  trees  repair  their  boughs, 

Returned  this  day,  the  south  wind  searches 
And  finds  young  pines  and  budding  birches, 
But  finds  not  the  budding  man  !  " 


THE   GERMANTOWN  PASTORATE  277 

But  spring  whispers  its  word  of  hope  and  res- 
toration, and  all  things  point  onward. 

My  life  flows  on  quite  busily  and  very  pleas- 
antly. I  fall  back  into  the  pastoral  life  as  natu- 
rally as  if  I  had  never  left  it.  Did  I  write  you 
that  I  was  keeping  house  }  I  like  it,  though  it 
is  a  little  solitary.  But  I  fancy  its  solitude  is 
preferable  to  the  society  of  a  boarding-house. 

TO    MRS.    G.    L.    s. 

Germantown,  January  18,  1879. 

My  dear  Friend,  —  The  little  vase  to-day 
holds  a  half-open  white  camellia  and  a  spray  of 
dark  purple  heliotrope.  Are  there  not  some  days 
and  some  experiences,  all  fair  and  unshadowed, 
which  yet  bear  in  them  none  of  the  spiritual 
fragrance  that  comes  from  the  heart  of  darkly 
shadowed  ones  t  That  thought  or  fancy  came  to 
me  as  I  looked  at  the  flowers.  I  wonder  what 
meaning  you  would  have  read  in  them  .-* 

I  have  delayed  for  too  long,  not  to  thank  you 
for  your  kind  remembrance  and  the  Emerson,  — 
that  I  did  at  once,  —  but  to  tell  you  that  I  thanked 
you.  But  you  were  sure  of  it,  —  we  are  always 
sure  of  our  friends  so  far  as  that.  But  if  we  do 
not  hear  we  arc  not  sure  that  our  gift  ever 
reached  them. 

We  have  had  the  bare  earth  till  now,  which  I 


2/8  SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW 

don't  like  to  lose  from  my  eyes  ;  but  now  the 
snow  lies  over  all.  The  white  snow  is  to  me  like 
the  white  camellia,  beautiful  but  heartless.  Still, 
it  gives  the  boys  snowballing  and  coasting  and 
sleigh-rides  ;  and  to  poor  men  the  chance  to  earn 
a  little  with  their  shovels.  Did  you  ever  see  the 
story  of  the  tramp,  who,  begging  in  August,  was 
asked,  *'  Why  don't  you  work  }  "  Said  he,  "  There 
is  nothing  doing  now  in  my  business."  ''And 
what  is  your  business  } "     ''  Shoveling  snow." 

But  if  the  snow  is  cold,  the  golden  sunsets  are 
not ;  how^  radiant  and  transparent !  And  this 
morning  I  saw  a  golden  sunrise  —  from  my 
pillow. 

Among  the  guests  in  Mr.  Longfellow's  home, 
it  was  natural  that  the  young  should  be  espe- 
cially welcome.  Living  near  the  large  German- 
town  Academy  (the  picturesque  old  building  of 
which  peculiarly  interested  him),  he  became 
familiarly  acquainted  with  the  pupils,  whose 
sports  he  loved  to  watch,  and  who  learned  to 
confide  frankly  in  him.  He  went  frequently 
among  them,  and  they  came  often  in  groups  or 
singly  to  his  house.  For  their  freer  access,  he 
had  a  gateway  opened  in  his  fence.  It  was,  per- 
haps, one  of  these  boys  who  afterwards  said,  **  I 
used  to  be  very  much  ashamed  to  have  anybody 


THE.  GERM  AN  TOWN  PASTORATE  279 

caress  me  in  the  presence  of  others ;  but  when 
Mr.  Longfellow  did  so,  I  felt  proud  and  happy." 
But  with  boys  in  all  parts  of  the  town  Mr.  Long- 
fellow established  an  acquaintance.  Many  were 
familiar  with  him  who  did  not  know  his  name. 
''That  kind  gentleman  "  was  a  title  which,  as  in 
another  town,  was  applied  to  him  by  one  of 
these. 

A  gentleman,  searching  for  Mr.  Longfellow's 
house,  asked  a  street  boy  to  direct  him  to  it. 
The  answer  told  its  own  story.  ''What  !  Don't 
you  know  Jihn  ?  Why  every  one  knows  where  he 
lives  ! " 

It  must  be  confessed  that  to  his  kind  words 
and  ways  he  added  certain  innocent,  tangible 
attractions.  "A  friend  of  mine,"  writes  a  lady, 
"  saw  him  on  the  street  one  winter's  morning, 
with  each  arm  around  a  shabbily  dressed  boy, 
while  he  was  encouraging  a  third  to  search  the 
pockets  of  his  overcoat.  She  could  not  resist 
awaiting  the  result,  and  the  urchin  discovered 
candy  !  "  Another  writes,  "  Once,  in  a  provision 
store,  I  met  Mr.  Longfellow  looking  at  apples. 
He  was  picking  out  a  barrel,  that  the  Academy 
boys  might  help  themselves  when  they  came  to 
his  house,  and  he  asked  me  if  I  did  not  think 
'that  boys  liked  /r<^  apples  best.'  " 

He  loved  to  gather  children  about  his  bachelor 


280  SAMUEL   LOXG FELLOW 

table,  and  make  them  feel  at  home  in  his  house. 
It  was  quite  usual  to  find  several  little  people 
engaged  with  him  in  talk,  or  amusing  themselves 
with  his  books  and  pictures.  "■  One  day  when  I 
stopped  to  see  him  on  some  church-work,  I  found 
him  with  a  boy  (quite  a  little  one)  on  each  side  of 
him  and  a  huge  book  of  animals  open  before 
them.  Knowing  that  he  had  some  fine  illustrated 
fairy  stories,  I  reminded  him  that  the  children 
would  enjoy  those.  But  Mr.  Longfellow  replied, 
'  No,  not  these  little  Friends  ;  we  like  the  animals 
and  birds  best.*  Later,  he  told  me  that  he 
always  put  his  imaginative  books  away  when 
those  boys  visited  him,  fearing  that  he  might 
show  them  something  which  their  Quaker  par- 
ents might  not  like." 

One  very  little  fellow  became  at  last  impressed 
with  a  deficiency  in  this  household  of  one.  Din- 
ing with  him,  the  child  suddenly  observed,  "  But, 
Mr.  Longfellow,  where  is  your  ivifef  "I  have 
none,"  was  the  reply.  ''  You  have  n't  got  any  }  " 
(incredulously).  ''  No,  I  have  n't  any."  '*  Did  n't 
you  ever  have  one  }  "  "  No."  "  WJiy  did  n't 
you.^  "  "Perhaps  I  never  found  the  right  one." 
**Did  you  hmit  after  her.?"  ''At  this  point," 
said  Mr.  Longfellow,  much  amused  at  the  inci- 
dent, "  I  thought  it  time  to  turn  the  conversa- 
tion." 


THE.   GERMANTOWN  PASTORATE  28 1 

But  fond  as  he  was  of  all  children,  some  of  the 
little  girls  had  a  feeling  that  his  preference  was 
for  the  boys.  One  of  them  taxed  him  with  this, 
and  commissioned  a  friend  to  demand  why  it 
should  be  so.  He  seemed  to  admit  the  partiality 
when,  after  a  moment,  he  replied,  "  Tell  her  it  is, 
perhaps,  because  I  never  zvas  a  little  girl." 

Mr.  Longfellow's  spirit  of  charity  led  him  into 
a  similar  wide  acquaintance  among  the  humble 
families  of  the  town.  In  his  quiet  but  observant 
way,  he  discovered  many  cases  of  suffering  and 
want,  and  brought  them  relief,  either  through 
public  agencies  or  from  his  own  means,  which 
were  always  disproportionately  taxed  for  objects 
of  kindness.  The  poor  knew  and  loved  him  as 
the  children  did. 

But  his  sympathy  went  out  especially  to  those 
burthened  by  the  distresses  of  the  mind  and 
heart.  To  hear  of  persons  in  trouble,  or  doubt, 
or  sorrow  was,  with  him,  to  seek  out  some  way 
of  reaching  them  with  comfort,  or  guidance,  or 
encouragement,  often  while  he  remained  un- 
known. 

*'  Mr.  Longfellow's  aesthetic  instincts,"  writes 
a  friend,  **  and  his  love  for  historical  associations 
led  him  to  take  a  great  interest  in  the  old  things 
of  Germantown  ;  his  liking  for  the  quaint  people 
in  their  odd  little  shops,  with  their  conservative 


282  SAMUEL  LOXG FELLOW 

ways,  offered  a  marked  contrast  to  his  progressive 
tendencies  in  thought.  During  his  last  visit  to 
us  he  said,  referring  to  the  changes  taking  place 
in  town,  the  pulling  down  of  old  houses,  '  I  don't 
like  cJiaiiges ;  I  hope  they  will  leave  some  of  the 
old  places,  for  we  need  links  with  the  past  gen- 
erations ;  there  are  few  enough  in  America  at 
the  best.' 

**  The  only  time  I  ever  heard  him  quote  from 
his  brother's  writings,  in  private,  was  in  speaking 
of  my  grandfather's  house  and  the  alterations 
which  had  been  made  in  it  during  fifty  years 
past,  when  he  repeated  from  '  The  Golden  Mile- 
stone,' — 

"  '  Happy  he  whom  neither  wealth  nor  fashion 
Nor  the  march  of  the  encroaching  city 

Drives  an  exile 
From  the  hearth  of  his  ancestral  homestead.'  " 

Another  of  his  parishioners  writes  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

"  I  hardly  know  how  to  convey  my  impressions 
of  Mr.  Longfellow's  influence  in  Germantown, 
for  his  whole  personality  was  so  essentially  spir- 
itual that  it  eludes  one's  effort  to  portray  it  in 
words.  When,  later,  he  died,  I  felt  that  the 
transition  from  this  world  to  the  world  of  spirit 
would  be  to  him  a  very  natural  change,  —  a  much 
shorter  step  than  it  could  be  in  most  lives,  —  for 


THE   GERMANTOWN  PASTORATE  283 

there  seemed  to  be  in  his  nature  so  little  that 
tied  him  to  earthly  things. 

^'  He  was  not  an  active  worker  in  the  days 
when  we  knew  him  ;  largely  because  of  his  del- 
icate health,  but  also  from  temperament.  He 
thought,  truly,  that  the  weight  of  one's  personal 
influence  lent  to  any  cause  was  always  one's  best 
assistance  to  it.  What  he  was^  was  always  much 
more  important  than  what  he  did.  He  strongly 
disliked  argument,  and  had  a  quiet  way  of  letting 
a  subject  drop  and  introducing  a  new  topic  if 
there  seemed  to  be  danger  of  increasing  warmth 
in  a  conversation.  He  had  no  desire  to  convince 
others  that  they  were  in  the  wrong,  except  by 
standing  himself  quietly  and  firmly  on  the  other 
side. 

'*  In  this  way  there  sometimes  seemed  in  him 
a  lack  of  warmth,  which  made  him  more  espe- 
cially the  preacher  to  the  older  and  maturer 
minds  of  his  congregation,  rather  than  to  the 
glowing  enthusiasts  of  our  younger  circle. 

''Yet  many  of  his  quiet  bits  of  philosophy 
sank  deeply  into  our  young  hearts,  and  were  a 
real  balm  for  us  in  that  time  of  stress  and  strain 
which  comes  to  those  who,  while  feeling  that 
they  must  struggle  for  something  higher,  are 
not  quite  sure  of  their  aim.  I  remember  one 
sermon,  in  particular,  on   'Secondary  Motives.' 


284  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

It  was,  in  the  main,  a  plea  for  conventionality, 
that  bugbear  of  youth,  and  he  said  that  to  do  a 
thing  because  it  was  polite  was  almost  always  to 
do  it  because  it  was  kind ;  that  in  most  ways 
the  laws  of  society  had  grown  to  be  a  code  of 
kindness  and  consideration  for  others,  and  in 
general  they  were  safer  to  follow  than  one's  own 
crude  sense  of  ideal  propriety. 

"  His  attitude  on  the  subject  of  Temperance 
at  one  time  disturbed  me  a  little  ;  but  I  found 
an  answer  to  my  questionings  in  a  sermon  he 
preached  upon  '  Evil,'  —  the  misuse  of  good,  the 
good  gone  wrong;  that  only  in  perfect  liberty 
can  there  be  perfect  obedience  to  law  ;  and  my 
mind  settled  itself  upon  this  subject  for  all  time. 

''  I  remember  a  phrase  which  he  used  in  a  mar- 
riage-service, which  was  thoroughly  characteristic 
and  showed  his  fondness  for  putting  his  own  in- 
terpretation into  others'  words.  In  pronouncing 
the  benediction  he  said,  '  7/"  God  has  joined  .  .  . 
let  no  man  put  asunder.' 

"  He  had  the  deepest  appreciation  of  home  and 
home  life  ;  and  we  all  of  us  wished  that  his  own 
experience  might  have  included  that  love  which 
alone  gives  ideal  beauty  and  blessing  to  home 
life.  In  a  letter  to  me  he  wrote  the  following 
childlike  sentiment  :  'I  am  glad  you  are  so 
happy  in  your  new  life,  and  I  see  no  reason  why 


THE    GERM  A  iVTO  IVN  PASTORATE  285 

your  happiness  should  not  continue  and  increase. 
I  remember  once  being  told  by  a  lady,  whom  I 
knew  when  a  young  boy,  that  love  is  often 
stronger  after  marriage  than  before.' 

"  This  gives  a  glimpse,  I  think,  into  his  entirely 
theoretical  relations  to  this  subject." 

In  this  connection  the  following  letter  may  be 
inserted,  although  written  by  Mr.  Longfellow  in 
1857. 

*'  Your  marriage  day  is  very  near,  and  before 
my  return  you  will  have  begun  your  new  life 
and  departed  for  your  new  home.  As  I  can- 
not be  with  you  in  person  at  this  time,  I  must 
let  my  pen  do  its  office,  at  least  so  far  as  to  as- 
sure you  that  an  occasion  so  full  of  interest  to 
you  cannot  fail  to  be  of  interest  to  me,  and  that 
I  enter  with  friendly  sympathy  into  the  new 
hopes  that  open  before  you. 

"Doubtless  those  hopes,  however  warmly  they 
glow  in  your  heart,  still  float  somewhat  vaguely 
in  your  thoughts,  and  your  ideal  of  a  true  mar- 
ried life  lies  high  and  beautiful  yet  undefined  in 
the  heavens  of  your  soul.  And  as  the  months 
of  reality  go  by,  the  hope  and  the  ideal  may  fade 
somewhat.  Do  not  be  disappointed  if  they  do  ; 
do  not  expect  an  immediate  realization  of  them. 
Yet,  I  beseech  you,  do  not  give  up  the  hope,  nor 
let  the  ideal  go  ;  recognize   the    present   limita- 


286  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

tions  ;  yet  fulfill,  as  much  as  you  can,  your  best 
thought  of  what  the  relation  should  be  and  should 
accomplish.  At  first,  doubtless,  your  affection 
will  make  all  the  new  duties  easy ;  but  the  time 
must  come  when  you  will  need  patience  and  self- 
sacrifice  and  a  strong  sense  of  duty.  These  will 
deepen  the  love  and  spiritualize  it  and  keep  it 
strong  and  true  enough  to  meet  every  emergency. 

'*  It  is  much  that  any  man  has  given  his  hap- 
piness into  your  keeping.  But  that  is  not  all. 
For  it  is  more  to  feel  that  another's  spiritual  life 
is,  in  a  great  measure,  in  your  charge.  It  has 
been  said  of  the  true  wife  that,  '  with  a  heart  at 
once  pious  and  large,  she  forever  improves  the 
man  she  has  wedded.' 

''To  call  out  all  this  highest  nature,  to  sympa- 
thize with  and  encourage  every  noblest  purpose 
and  aspiration,  —  this  is  indeed  a  high  and  beau- 
tiful service  for  one  soul  to  do  for  another.  And 
this  is  what  husband  and  wife  can  do,  as  perhaps 
none  others  can. 

''  That  you  will  find  this  accomplished  for  you 
and  your  husband,  I  sincerely  hope.  That  your 
union  will  be  a  spiritual  union,  a  sympathy  and 
communion  of  your  inmost  natures,  I  earnestly 
trust.  Then  it  will  be  indeed  the  beginning  of 
new  life  to  you.  For  true  spiritual  love  is  the 
image  and  presence  of  God,  and  when  it  dwells 


THE   GERMANTOWN  PASTORATE  287 

in  a  soul  God  dwells  there.  May  his  blessing 
accompany  all  your  way  !  " 

While  still  living  in  Germantown,  a  genuine 
sorrow  befell  Mr.  Longfellow  in  the  death  of  his 
friend  Samuel  Johnson.  The  two  had  been  pro- 
foundly intimate  for  forty  years.  Their  thoughts 
had  flowed  in  parallel  channels  ;  their  principles 
and  aims  were  completely  harmonized.  Their 
habits  and  modes  of  life  were  similar.  In  tem- 
perament, they  were  sufficiently  contrasted  to 
make  friendship  delightful  and  intercourse  mu- 
tually helpful.  The  advanced  position  which 
both  held  in  religion  and  philosophy,  and  the 
strong  bent  of  their  minds  to  individualism  in 
thought  and  action,  largely  isolated  them  from 
other  thinkers  and  workers  in  their  chosen  field, 
and  made  the  confidence  they  gave  each  other, 
and  their  community  of  views,  the  more  precious 
to  each.  Their  personal  association  was  close 
and  constant ;  their  correspondence  frequent, 
and  as  affectionate  and  interesting  on  the  part 
of  Mr.  Johnson  as  we  have  found  it  to  be  on  the 
part  of  Mr.  Longfellow. 

Such  a  friendship  could  not  be  suspended  by 
the  parting  of  death  without  a  deep  sense  of  be- 
reavement to  the  survivor ;  nor  could  it  end  on 
earth  without  its  memorial.  During  the  year 
following  Mr.   Johnson's  death,  Mr.   Longfellow 


288  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

(as  has  already  been  mentioned)  gathered  up 
some  of  his  lectures,  essays,  and  sermons  into  a 
volume,  prefixing  a  memorial  sketch  through 
which  the  love  he  bore  his  friend,  and  the  ad- 
miration he  felt  for  his  character,  talents,  and 
scholarship,  and  for  his  services  to  morals  and  to 
literature,  are  brightly  conspicuous. 

It  was  a  still  nearer  bereavement,  following 
closely  upon  the  other,  which  led  to  the  termi- 
nation of  Mr.  Longfellow's  beautiful  ministry  in 
Germantown.  In  March,  1882,  died  his  beloved 
brother  Henry.  From  the  death  -  bedside  and 
funeral  of  the  poet  he  returned  to  his  people  full 
of  tender  feeling,  but  oppressed  by  no  gloom  of 
sorrow.  On  the  following  Sunday  he  preached 
to  them  an  uplifting  sermon,  into  which  the  spir- 
itual experiences  of  the  time  were  gathered,  full 
of  faith  and  thankfulness.  But  the  duty  at  once 
occurred,  which  no  other  could  so  fittingly  dis- 
charge, of  preparing  a  memoir  of  his  brother. 
He  very  soon  announced  to  his  congregation 
that,  on  this  account,  he  must  withdraw  from 
them,  and  although  the  parting  was  an  occasion 
of  sorrowful  regret  to  all,  the  necessity  for  it 
was  fully  recognized. 


XV 

CLOSING    YEARS    IN    CAMBRIDGE 

Resigning  his  pulpit,  in  1882,  Mr.  Longfellow 
returned  to  Cambridge,  and  took  up  his  abode 
again  in  the  familiar  Craigie  House.  How  much 
he  had  come  to  be  at  home  in  Germantown,  he 
was  made  aware  as  he  revived  old  associations. 
"  I  was  surprised  to  find,"  he  wrote,  "  that  I  felt 
quite  strange  in  coming  back  to  my  old  quar- 
ters." His  affections  were  never  weaned  from 
his  Germantown  people,  and  so  long  as  he  lived 
he  maintained  friendly  relations  with  them,  inter- 
changing frequent  letters  and  other  tokens  of 
regard  with  some  who  had  been  peculiarly  inti- 
mate with  him. 

TO   MRS.   H.    M.    s. 

Cambridge,  May  27,  1S83. 
...  I  have  been  doing  a  good  deal  of  garden- 
ing the  last  fortnight,  and  trust  the  seeds  I  have 
sown  will  repay  me  for  my  tired  back.  But  it  is 
quite  an  act  oi  faith  (almost  as  much  as  preach- 
ing sermons,  the  sowing  of  spiritual  seeds)  when 


290  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

one  remembers  that  the  seed  is  not  always  good, 
and  that  sometimes  there  is  too  much  rain,  and 
sometimes  too  hot  a  sun  ;  and  that  if  the  birds 
of  the  air  do  not  carry  them  off,  sometimes  Sa- 
tan in  the  form  of  small  Irish  boys  carries  off 
the  plants  bodily  ;  as  has  happened  to  some  of 
my  handsome  pansies.  But  I  am  glad  that  they 
like  flowers.  It  might  be  good  for  them  if  I 
should  set  out  some  of  the  plants  called  '*  Hon- 
esty." .  .  . 

TO    MRS.    C.    B. 

Cambridge,  September  23,  1883. 

I  have  been  grieved  to  hear,  within  a  few  days, 
that  your  health,  which  I  had  hoped  and  believed 
quite  restored,  is  not  yet  established.  I  know 
your  courage  and  patience  will  not  fail  you  in 
this  longer  trial,  nor  your  trust  in  the  Father's 
infinite  goodness  and  the  nearness  of  his  presence 
to  help  us  bear  every  burden.  The  burden  He 
does  not  always  take  away ;  but  He  lightens  it, 
oh,  how  much  !  by  the  tender  trust  in  his  power 
to  make  all  things  work  for  good.  I  hope  you 
may  be  already  regaining  your  strength,  but  most 
of  all  I  pray  that  you  may  every  hour  be 
"strengthened  with  all  might  in  the  inner  man," 
renewed  ''day  by  day."  How  many  things  are 
explained  by  this  our  double   life,  the   outward 


CLOSING    YEARS  TN  CAMBRIDGE  29 1 

and  the  inward,  and  how  the  experiences  of  life 
teach  us  that  it  is  the  inward  that  is  the  real  and 
the  significant  and  the  lasting.  I  am  sure  that 
the  more  we  are  accustomed  to  look  at  things  in 
their  inward  bearing  and  aspect  and  conse- 
quences, the  more  truly  we  see  them  as  God  sees 
and  means  them.  And  in  that  way  we  find  many 
things  in  his  providence  made  clearer  which  else 
would  seem  dark  and  strange.  But  how  beauti- 
ful, also,  it  is  to  trust,  where  we  cannot  see,  and 
to  believe,  where  we  cannot  explain  !  .  .  . 

TO    MRS.   H.    M.    s. 

Cambridge,  November  19,  18S4. 

It  is  snowing  outside,  and  I  am  here  alone,  in 
the  study,  with  a  fire  and  a  pen. 

What  a  contrast  to  the  Indian  summer  days  I 
left  in  Germantown  !  Perhaps  they  have  ended 
even  there  ;  but  I  don't  believe  it  is  snowing. 

My  visit  was  a  delightful  one,  and  it  was  a 
charming  way  to  end  up  the  season.  The  coun- 
try, so  lovely  in  its  sober  late  autumn  colors  of 
olive  and  russet  and  deep  red  ;  the  friendly  greet- 
ings and  hospitalities  ;  the  lunches,  the  dinners, 
the  teas  ;  the  pictures  at  the  Academy ;  the 
happiness  of  the  wedding ;  the  hours  in  the 
church,  —  all  these  things  live  in  memory.  How 
good  God   is  to   us,  so   to   fashion  our  natures 


292  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

that  we  can  enjoy  not  only  the  actual  having  of 
things,  but  the  memory  of  them  ;  and  often  we 
must  add  the  anticipation,  making  a  threefold 
enjoyment.  .  .  . 

Mr.  Chadwick  and  the  church  in  Brooklyn  to 
which  I  once  ministered  wish  me  to  come  and 
take  part  in  the  twentieth  anniversary  of  my 
successor's  installation.  What  a  long  ministry, 
for  these  days  !  Should  you  think  he  would 
have  anything  left  to  say  t  But  some  things 
have  to  be  said  over  more  than  once.  .  .  . 

TO    MRS.    G.    L.    s. 
[During  a  visit  to  Germantown.] 

Germantown,  April  21,  1886. 

...  I  am  enjoying  to  the  full  the  exquisite  plea- 
sure of  the  unfolding  green  ;  the  trees  not  yet 
"  clothed  upon,"  but  just  veiled ;  a  bed  of  white 
violets  under  my  window,  Forsythia  and  the 
Japanese  quince  ;  by  the  roadside  the  blue  violet. 
Oh,  the  enchantment,  the  magic,  the  sweet  mira- 
cle of  nature's  ways  !  the  stones  made  bread  and 
the  water  turned  to  wine  for  the  hunger  and 
thirst  of  our  souls  !  This  beautiful  world  we  live 
in  and  the  Supreme  Beauty  it  hides  and  reveals  ! 
These  costly  pictures  given  freely  to  every  passer- 
by !  Oh,  the  depth  of  the  riches  of  the  goodness 
of  God ! 


CLOSING    YEARS  IN  CAMnKIDGE  293 

The  gift  comes  to  each  of  us  as  if  made  espe- 
cially for  him,  and  yet  to  each  of  us,  if  we  think 
of  it,  enhanced  by  its  being  meant  and  made  for 
all,  and  for  each  only  as  one  of  the  all. 

And  now,  as  I  look  out,  the  white  violets  have 
taken  wings  and  are  flying  about  above  the  beds 
like  white  butterflies. 

That  is  the  Easter  symbol,  and  shall  be  my 
Easter  greeting. 

TO    MRS.    H.    M.    s. 

Cambridge,  May  20,  1886. 
...  It  seems  to  me  most  reasonable  and  right 
to  believe  that  the  thoughts  and  affections  of 
those  who  have  passed  through  the  veil  are  still 
with  us,  as  ours  are  with  them.  All  that  is 
''gone  "  is  the  visible  and  tangible  form  in  which 
the  thoughts  and  affections  were  enshrined.  And 
that  is  much,  for  it  is  endeared  to  us  as  express- 
ing the  inward  and  invisible  person  whom  we 
really  love ;  but  the  spirit  is  not  gone,  for  I  can- 
not believe  that  the  dropping-off  of  the  body, 
which  is  only  its  garment,  can  change  that. 


XVI 

THE    BIOGRAPHY 

Settled  in  familiar  Cambridge,  Mr.  Longfel- 
low applied  himself  diligently  to  the  biography 
of  his  brother,  which  occupied  him  quite  fully  for 
nearly  four  years.  He  felt  that  of  one  whose 
works  had  made  him  so  widely  known  and  loved, 
there  should  exist  an  exhaustive  account ;  while 
he  wished  and  trusted  that,  from  it,  memoirs, 
briefer  and  adapted  to  wider  circulation,  might 
be  composed.  He  even  urged  upon  Mr.  James 
Russell  Lowell,  who  had  lately  completed  such  a 
biography  of  Hawthorne,  to  write  a  one-volume 
memoir  of  his  neighbor  and  friend  and  brother- 
poet.  Mr.  Longfellow's  own  work  was  one  of 
devoted  love  and  reverence  for  the  man,  as  well 
as  admiration  for  the  poet,  and  he  spared  no 
pains  to  give  it  accuracy  and  completeness.  But 
he  rejoices  when  the  long  task  is  ended ! 

TO   MRS.   H.    M.    s. 

Cambridge,  December  31,  1885. 
I  am  like  a  schoolboy  who  begins  to  see  the 
vacation  approaching.     In  a  month  from  now  my 


THE  BIOGRAPHY  295 

work  will  be  done,  and  the  burden  rolled  off  from 
my  shoulders. 

I  want  the  publishers  to  issue  it  on  February 
27,  the  poet's  birthday.  There  is  so  little  of  in- 
cident and  adventure  in  the  life  of  a  literary  man 
that  only  those  who  are  already  interested  in  his 
writings  will  find  interest  in  his  biography.  There 
will  be  plenty  of  faults  in  my  work,  some  of  which 
I  shall  see  for  the  first  time  when  the  book  is 
printed  and  bound,  but  I  shall  not  tell  anybody 
what  they  are.  .  .  . 

TO    A    SISTER. 

February  17,  1886. 

And  SO  my  long  work  is  finished  !  I  can  hardly 
tell  how  it  has  lasted  so  long.  But  a  large  part 
of  it  makes  no  appearance  in  the  book,  —  the 
reading,  sifting,  choosing,  deciding,  rejecting; 
yet,  on  the  whole,  I  am  well  satisfied.  Do  you 
know  that  letters  do  not  read  as  well  in  print  as 
in  manuscript  t  .  .  . 

TO    MRS.    H.    M.    s, 

Cambridge,  1886. 
...  I  think  you  will  find  a  singular  unity  run- 
ning through  the  book  in  several  ways.     Those 
who  knew  my  brother  personally  will  recognize 
the  same  qualities  of  character  in  the  man  that 


296  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

were  in  the  boy,  only  that  the  quick  temper  was 
completely  controlled.  Then  his  early  purpose 
of  distinction  in  literature,  beginning  at  seventeen, 
in  college,  and  fulfilling  itself  at  seventy,  never 
lost  sight  of  in  the  interval.  One  might  even 
note  the  interest  in  the  Indians  shown  in  his  first 
poor  printed  poem,  coming  out  in  college  in  an 
exhibition  dialogue,  then  in  mid-life  culminating 
in  "  Hiawatha."  You  will  observe  also  the  gentle 
/minor  that  runs  through  his  letters  and  diaries, 
something  of  which  you  noticed  in  "Outre-Mer." 

We  have  had  a  wonderfully  pleasant  March. 
What  an  exhilaration  of  feeling  comes  with  the 
first  spring  days  ;  and  what  pleasant  associations 
from  away  back  in  childhood ! 

Do  you  remember  a  pleasant-faced  youth  whom 
I  brought  one  evening  to  our  church  parlor,  a 
young  artist?  Son  of  a  Methodist  clergyman,  he 
has  become,  mostly  by  his  own  reflection  and 
study,  a  Unitarian,  so  he  writes  me,  I  believe 
more  would  do  so,  if  they  did  a  little  more  thmk- 
ing.  .  .  . 

Mr.  Longfellow's  life,  while  engaged  upon  the 
memoir,  was  of  the  quietude  and  sunny  cheerful- 
ness which  were  characteristic  of  him.  Its  one 
especial  incident  was  the  occurrence  of  his  seven- 
tieth birthday,  June  18,  1889.     The  observance 


THE   BIOGRAPHY  29/ 

of  the  anniversary  by  his  friends,  and  their  kind 
forethought  to  make  it  happy,  touched  him  ten- 
derly, as  appears  in  some  of  the  letters  which 
follow. 

TO    MRS.    G.    L.    S. 

Intervale,  July  22,  1888. 
"And  the  mountains  shall  bring  peace,"  says 
the  Hebrew  prophet.  Can  I  send  you  some  of 
the  restfulness  of  this  interval  amongst  the  hills  t 
Here  all  is  strength  and  beauty,  not  sublimity  or 
terror.  The  ranges  of  hills  which  encircle  us 
for  four  fifths  of  our  horizon  do  not  imprison,  but 
only  guard  us.  The  loftier  peaks  and  slopes  are 
just  far  enough  away  to  take  on  every  lovely 
change  of  blue,  in  turn.  The  nearer  wooded  hills 
show  all  tints  of  green,  light  or  dark  as  sunshine 
or  cloud-shadow  lies  upon  them,  and  at  evening 
sink  into  a  deep  velvet  hue  that  has  no  name. 
Wordsworth  says  of  his  hero  that,  returning  at 
night,  he  ''saw  all  the  hills  grow  larger  in  the 
dark."  But  it  is  not  so  here;  to  my  eye  they 
look  distinctly  smaller.  One  hesitates  to  differ 
from  so  close  an  observer  as  Wordsworth.  I 
think  his  line  may  be  true  of  hills  that  are  very 
near  to  the  observer. 

Did  I  ever  tell  you  that  when,  as  a  little  child, 
I  said  my  prayers,  I  always  thought  that  "  thine 


298  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

be  the  glory  "  meant  the  "  morning-glory  "  ?      So 
it  is  my  sacred  flower. 

TO    MRS.    G.    L.    s. 

Craigie  House,  January — ,  1890. 

Your  red  and  white  azaleas  stand  shining  upon 
the  table  before  me.  What  vigorous  flowers  they 
are,  and  so  generous ! 

With  their  green  leaves  and  ferns  they  make 
the  Italian  colors.  Do  you  remember  the  story 
of  the  Italian  prima  donna  who,  singing  in  Milan, 
under  the  old  Austrian  oppression,  when  every 
Italian  manifestation  was  forbidden  —  I  have 
really  forgotten  what  she  did  (so  I  hope  you  do 
remember),  but  in  some  way,  by  means  of  flow- 
ers, she  indicated  her  love  of  Italy  and  hatred 
of  Austria.  —  Now  it  comes  to  me!  When  the 
patriots  in  the  audience  threw  her  bouquets  of 
red,  white,  and  green,  she  placed  them  in  her 
bosom  ;  the  authorities  then  forbade  her  to  pick 
them  up.  The  next  night  they  threw  on  the 
stage  bouquets  of  the  Austrian  colors,  and  she 
quietly  walked  over  them,  thus  treading  them 
under  her  feet.  .  .   . 


TIIK   lUOGRAPHY  299 

TO    MRS.    G.    L.    S. 

[No  date.] 

I  thought  of  you  in  the  still  solitude  of  Wil- 
loughby  Lake,  and  wished  that  you  might  have 
entered  into  its  quiet.  Yet  where  could  you  go 
that  you  would  not  feel  the  something  that  should 
be  tJiere  to  satisfy  the  hunger  of  your  heart,  and 
is  not  ? 

When  years  and  years  have  knit  the  outward 
ties  and  twined  them  so  closely  with  the  inward 
that  they  grow  as  indistinguishable  almost  as 
color  and  fragrance  in  the  flower,  how  can  that 
all  be  changed,  "in  an  instant,"  and  the  tendrils 
of  our  every  feeling  be  torn  off  that  which  they 
clung  to  and  grew  into,  without  unspeakable  des- 
olation and  bewildered  sense  of  loss  ?  How  lone: 
will  it  take  to  exchange,  at  every  point,  this  out- 
ward for  the  inward  it  signifies,  the  twined  spirit- 
ual and  material  for  the  spiritual  alone  ?  How 
long?  How  often  that  question  must  arise  in 
your  heart !  Yet  it  will  come  ;  you  cannot  tell 
when.  Not  with  observation,  not  all  at  once,  — 
the  peace  that  passeth  understanding.  Already 
you  have  experience  of  it  in  some  calm  sweet 
hours  of  spiritual  presence.  And  then  will  more 
and  more  be  vouchsafed  to  you,  and  the  tossed 
waves  of  your  heart  spread  out  into  still  waters. 


300  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

By  such  lake-sides  of  the  Spirit  I  hope  you 
have  often  been  sitting,  and  seen  the  heavens 
reflected  in  that  uplifting  calm,  as  at  Willoughby 
we  used  to  see  the  sunset  glories  in  the  sky  and 
water  between  the  sentinel  cliffs. 

I  hope,  at  least,  that  to  your  ear  may  come  the 
bird-song,  which,  because  it  is  a  voice,  touches 
our  hearts  more  deeply  than  even  the  flowers  can 
do,  in  their  silence. 

But  if  you  are  shut  from  these  too,  may  the 
Spirit  visit  you,  not  through  symbols,  but  by  that 
immediate  vision  and  presence,  —  that  secret 
whisper  to  the  soul  which  fills  it  with  holy  peace, 
as  it  leads  to  the  green  pastures  and  still  waters, 
as  you  lay  your  troubled  heart  to  rest  in  the  ever- 
lasting arms  !     So  prays  for  you 

Your  friend,  S.  L. 

TO    A    SISTER. 

Cambridge,  June  20,  1S89. 
Thanks  for  the  beautiful  little  pencil.  It  will 
be  in  constant  use,  and  constantly  remind  me  of 
the  giver.  I  have  a  particular  liking  for  small 
things.  I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  a  sign  of 
advancing  age.  I  find  that  even  my  handwriting 
grows  smaller.  It  is  not  yet  as  small  as  Mr.  G.'s, 
which  was  nearly  invisible  in  his  last  years. 
Henry's  remained  large  and  firm  to  the  last. 


THE  BIOGRAPHY  3OI 

You  will  want  to  know  about  the  birthday. 
The  affair  opened  by  the  arrival  of  the  first  guest 
on  Monday  afternoon.  Mrs.  Fields  came  up 
from  Manchester  to  attend  our  niece's  afternoon 
reception  to  the  working-women  from  some  of 
the  Boston  stores.  About  thirty  of  them  wan- 
dered through  the  rooms  and  walked  in  the  gar- 
den and  sat  on  the  piazza.  I  read  to  them  the 
account  of  the  Craigie  House  from  "The  Life," 
and  she  read  some  of  the  poems.  .  ,  .  Mrs.  Fields 
brought  me  a  box  of  lovely  delicate  and  fragrant 
sweet-brier  roses.  The  next  morning  she  pre- 
sented me  with  a  fine  etched  portrait  of  James 
Martineau,  a  strong  and  earnest  face.  At  break- 
fast came  a  great  bunch  of  carnations  from  one 
of  my  boy  friends  ;  then  a  box  of  fine  red  roses 
from  Mrs.  Spellman ;  then  came  C.  with  her 
smallest  boy  bringing  a  bouquet.  Flowers  poured 
in  during  the  day.  Dear  Mrs.  Nichols  sent  a 
pretty  basket  of  roses  set  in  a  glass  of  water  so 
that  they  did  not  have  to  be  removed  ;  Went- 
worth  Higginson  a  large  basket  of  ''  seventy 
roses  ;  "  M.  a  bouquet  with  white  roses  from  the 
old  Portland  bush  ;  C.  a  box  of  fine  florist's  roses, 
—  and  so  on.  There  were  notes  from  l^xlward 
Hale  and  Sam  Eliot,  both  of  whom  had  engage- 
ments elsewhere.  About  five  o'clock  came  Wil- 
liam and  Harriet  P.,  bringing  a  large  book  and  a 


302  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

small  one,  the  latter  a  tiny  scrap-book,  in  which, 
at  the  age  of  eleven,  I  had  copied  some  verses, 
as  we  used  to  do. 

Presently  A.  came  to  me  and  said,  **  It  can  be 
kept  secret  no  longer ;  come  into  the  front  parlor 
and  see  your  surprise."  I  went,  and  found  Mr. 
Kneisel,  Mr.  Loeffler,  and  Mr.  Foote,  with  piano, 
violin,  and  'cello,  who  said  they  would  play  me 
some  trios  of  Beethoven.  Others  came  in,  and 
the  music  was  delicate  and  charming.  Ices  and 
strawberries  were  served,  and  all  was  very  plea- 
sant and  cordial. 

TO    MRS.    G.    L.    s. 

Cambridge,  June  19,  1S89. 

Seventy  thanks,  or,  seventy  times  seven,  for 
your  beautiful  and  thoughtful  gifts  on  my  birth- 
day ! 

I  did  very  much  hope  that  you  would  yourself 
be  able  to  come.  I  would  have  found  a  quiet 
corner  for  you  in  the  front  parlor,  where  a  few 
of  us  sat  awhile  and  listened  to  such  music  as 
would  have  charmed  and  rested  you.  .  .  . 

Some  fifty  of  my  Cambridge  friends  came  with 
kind  greetings  and  flowers,  and  warmed  the  cool 
day  with  their  friendliness.  It  was  very  pleasant, 
and  I  was  not  at  all  tired.  When  I  woke  up  this 
morning  at  six  o'clock,  I  felt  decidedly  jw/;/^r;' ; 
but  now  I  have  got  back  into  seventy  again. 


THE   BIOGRAPHY  303 

But  it  is  much  to  be  thankful  for,  —  I  am  not 
forgetful  of  it,  —  to  have  lived  seventy  happy, 
peaceful,  and  not  useless  years.  And  what  a 
time  to  have  been  living  in  ! 

The  wreath  was  exquisite,  in  the  most  delicate 
tints  of  rose  and  white  and  pale  yellow,  —  as 
lovely  as  a  Beethoven  trio. 

Ever  your  obliged  S.  L. 

John  Holmes,  some  years  my  senior,  sent  me 
some  very  nice  stanzas,  as  good  as  his  brother 
would  have  written. 


XVII 

LAST    DAYS 

The  gentle,  gracious  life  of  Samuel  Longfellow 
was  now  near  its  peaceful  close. 

In  the  late  autumn  of  1891,  a  sorrow  fell  upon 
the  household  of  one  of  his  brothers,  and  he  went 
to  Portland  to  be  with  the  family.  *' A  more 
lovely,  calming  influence  in  a  home  was  never 
known."  There  was  no  apprehension  at  the  time 
that  he  would  be  the  next  to  leave  the  earthly 
circle  of  his  friends  and  relatives.  Yet  his  vio-or 
was  noticeably  impaired,  and  during  the  visit, 
while  he  never  alluded  to  his  condition,  he  some- 
times seemed  languid,  and  even  depressed. 

The  next  July  he  went  again  to  his  native  city, 
and  spent  several  weeks  in  the  ancient  house 
where  he  was  born.  He  was  now  distinctly 
unwell,  the  disease  from  which  he  had  been  for 
so  many  years  a  sufferer  evidently  making  rapid 
progress.  But  in  August  he  was  able  to  join  his 
brother's  family  at  the  seashore,  on  Cape  Eliza- 
beth, a  few  miles  from  Portland.  Here  ensued  a 
sudden  and  violent  attack,  which  the  physicians 


LAST  DA  YS  305 

at  once  pronounced  the  beginning  of  the  end. 
After  a  Httle  time  he  rallied,  and  for  a  few  weeks 
it  was  even  hoped  that  he  was  not  to  be  called 
away.  His  old  friend  Edward  Everett  Hale  came 
to  see  him,  and  their  meeting  was  most  merry, 
full  of  boyish  recollections  and  mutual  reminders 
of  early  days,  of  woodland  rambles  and  boating- 
excursions  in  Portland  harbor,  when  neither  of 
them  knew  much  of  the  sailor's  craft.  His  rela- 
tives were  constantly  about  him,  but  their  fond 
wish,  and  his  own,  that  he  might  be  removed 
again  to  one  of  their  homes,  and  especially  to 
that  which  had  been  his  birthplace,  could  not  be 
gratified.  He  expressed  no  disappointment,  and 
spoke  only  once  of  the  change  which  was  plainly 
approaching.  He  had  been  slightly  wandering 
in  mind,  then  became  quiet,  and  it  was  thought 
that  he  was  sleeping.  Presently,  quite  in  his 
natural  voice,  he  spoke  to  a  young  relative  at 
his  bedside,  asking  if  she  recalled  the  lines  of 
Whittier's  "Hampton  Beach,"  beginning 

"The  soul  may  know 
No  fearful  change,  nor  sudden  wonder. 
Nor  sink  tlie  weight  of  mystery  under. 
But  with  the  upward  rise,  and  with  the  vastness  grow."" 

These  he  repeated  almost  entire,  adding  from 
the  following  stanza, 

"  Familiar  as  our  childhood's  stream, 
Or  pleasant  memory  of  a  dream." 


306  SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

In  the  early  morning  of  October  3d,  just  as 
the  sunHght  was  beginning  to  stream  into  the 
room,  in  perfect  peace,  he  died. 

A  few  days  later,  in  the  ancient  homestead 
where  he  was  born,  brief  exercises  of  devotion 
and  commemoration  were  conducted  amidst  the 
family  to  whom  he  had  been  so  dear.  A  public 
service  followed,  in  the  old  First  Parish  Church, 
where  he  had  been  taught  to  worship  as  a  child. 
Thence  his  remains  were  carried  to  the  family 
tomb  in  the  Western  Cemetery,  a  picturesque, 
overgrown  retreat,  very  quiet  and  rural,  and  a  fit- 
ting resting  place  for  what  was  mortal  of  Samuel 
Longfellow. 


After  this  book  was  ready  for  the  press,  informa- 
tion was  received  that  on  Sunday,  March  25,  1894, 
a  bronze  tablet  to  the  memory  of  Mr.  Longfellow  was 
unveiled  in  their  church,  by  the  Second  Unitarian 
Society  of  Brooklyn.  It  bears  the  following  inscrip- 
tion :  — 

SAMUEL   LONGFELLOW 

MINISTER 

OF  THIS   SOCIETY  from  APRiL.1853  to  June  i860. 

A   MAN    OF    GENTLE    NATURE,    LIBERAL    CULTURE,    LOVING 

HEART  •  A    FAITHFUL    PREACHER    AND    PASTOR  •  EARNEST 

IN   REFORM  •  THE   FRIEND    OF   LITTLE   CHILDREN. 

A   POET   OF   RELIGION,   HE    GAVE   US    MANY   PERFECT 

SONGS   OF   HOPE   AND    CHEER. 

BORN   JUNE    13,    1819      ►$<      DIED   OCTOBER   3,    1892. 

"TO   BE   SPIRITUALLY   MINDED   IS    LIFE   AND   PEACE." 


0 


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